


Dear Mom and Dad

by 221Bowtie



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst, Everyone Needs A Hug, M/M, So much angst, Whizzer's life in letters, in nebraska ofc, whizzer writes letters to his family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-01-15 09:42:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221Bowtie/pseuds/221Bowtie
Summary: "I'll put another envelope in this letter with my address and a stamp already on it, just put your letter in it with the answer. I does not have to be a long letter or anything. I just really miss you guys and you never answer my letters. Please, mom."After being kicked out of his home, Whizzer heads out to New York. From there on, through his life, he continues writing letters to his family in Nebraska about how things are going in his life (with a few alterations to the truth).





	1. Everyone Hates His Parents

**Author's Note:**

> I changed Whizzer's birthname to Andrew, so that is why the letters end that way. But don't worry, Whizzer will find his way to himself.  
> 

Dear Mom and Dad,  
I made it! I'm in New York City! Imagine that! Your boy from Omaha, Nebraska, here in the big city. I've been here two days and already learned two things: New Yorkers don't call it "The Big Apple" and they don't like it when you wait for the traffic light to turn green before crossing the road, they are all just always in such a hurry. I know you're probably still really mad at me because of the thing that happened and also by now you probably noticed that I took some of the money out of the jar on the fridge for the bus ticket to here, but I promise I'll make it up to you. After you threw me out I just didn't know what to do, but you're probably already missing me and asking yourself why I didn't write you sooner. I just had to take some time to settle in, but everything here is super great! I couldn't really find a place to live yet. I spend a couple of nights in a shelter at first, but don't worry, I am not some kind of hobo! I left and now I am back on my own feet. I am currently searching for a job and it's going great, honestly. Matter of fact, a modelling agent chatted me up on the street just the other day and I think it's going to be kind of a big deal, so watch out for me on the cover of the magazines.  
Love,  
Andrew

New York sucks. 

Right after Whizzer had gotten off the bus he was ready to get back on, drive back to Nebraska, apologize to his dad and get his own boring life back. 

Baseball games, movie nights, talking about made up crushes on made up girls extra loudly when his dad walked by, your usual teenager stuff. This time he could do it. He could be straight. He'd just try harder this time. This time they won't find him and Luke in his bed. This time his dad will not come home from work early. This time he won't drag Luke out. This time he will not yell at Whizzer and Whizzer will not cry and make him scream more and hit harder. This time his mom will not cry as his dad throws him out, although it is already 9pm and all the stores in Omaha are already closed. This time he will not try to go to Luke's only so that Luke can also yell at him for not being more careful and tell him that making out with him meant nothing and that he has a girlfriend anyways so he does not need Whizzer, thank you very much. 

"Get lost, you fucking faggot," Luke had said and this is what Whizzer did. Where is the best place to get lost, you ask? Why, New York City, of course. 

People in movies do it all the time! Give up your old life, move on and go to New York City! There you'll find a witty group of friends to hang out with all the time and not go to work, while still being able to afford an apartment, where you have sex with various of your friends and then relationships, then weird break-ups, then you are friends again and then you never forget about them and get back together and marry. 

That's the American dream, folks. 

Whizzer felt like he was very close to that already. The only two things missing were the friends and the apartment. Oh, and the job. 

In fact, he currently spend his night cowering on the ground, next to a huge "30% Off All Bras!" Victoria's Secret advertisement (which honestly is a good deal, bras are like super expensive) and a shop that sells oysters in ice cream cones (only in New York, y'all). And the only time he had got close to getting a job had been that one time a man chatted him up, telling him that he was an agent for a modelling agency and that Whizzer would fit in really well, but when he had tried to pull Whizzer into a back alley, pushing his head down to his crotch, Whizzer started to doubt his credentials.

"At least it isn't raining!" Whizzer said out loud in a manner of dramatic irony, thinking how truly ironic it would be if it did in fact start to rain now. It didn't. Whizzer wasn't in a movie after all. He also didn't realise that the greater tragedy of this instance was he himself, the sixteen year old boy, who just spoke to himself, simply because he hadn't heard another person talk to him in about a week. 

Not even the people at the shelter talked to you. They just handed out food, expecting you to look at them as if they were your saviour Jesus Christ. 

Whizzer didn't even believe in Jesus Christ, he was half-Jewish. 

The beds there were alright, but sometimes another man would get in with you during the night. It wasn't that they all necessarily had bad intentions (most of them were just off their tits with drugs and couldn't find their own bed) and it honestly wasn't the worst feeling in the world to feel a man cuddle up to you (at least not for Whizzer, it wasn't) but when one morning one of the employees of the shelter had found Whizzer in the arms of another man, they had thrown them both out and Whizzer was back to square one. 

Thanks a lot, Toby. 

Although, admittably, had been a great cuddler.

But it was all good, it had been stupid anyways. Now Whizzer could start again and begin his new life. No begging anymore, no sleeping in shelters, no looking after men. 

From now on, he would be straight and he would make his parents proud. 

Whizzer's mom always said that if you feel lost, you must make a plan: just plan out your days and stick to it. 

So Whizzer made a plan: Go around the shops and ask if they have any jobs, stare at Victoria's Secret advertisement and get used to liking women (and at least try to jerk off to it), search for a safe place to sleep, try to find a group of friends (just try to chat up already existing groups and get included in them, making up a whole new one would take forever), try to smuggle clothes into other people's laundry at the laundromat, write letter to Mom and Dad. 

Whizzer smiled. 

For the first time, he was full of hope. 

Maybe New York didn't suck. Maybe he could do this, now, that he had a plan. 

Life was gonna be okay, he was gonna figure it out.


	2. Does This Mean That I'm a Fairy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whizzer doesn't want to touch her chest. He does not care about it. Maybe it will feel good when she touches him, he decides, because if the edge of a table can feel good against his groin, so must her hand. It doesn't, though. He just wants to cry."

Dear Mom and Dad,  
Guess what! I've got a girlfriend! Her name is Tara and she is a model! I can't wait for you guys to meet her, I've attached a photo of us two, isn't she pretty? We've been going out for a while now and things could not be better. Everything is great. We never fight, we are just like best friends. The bestest of friends, she calls us, she is so adorable. I love her so much. I miss you guys, I will come by soon. Please just tell me when we can drop by (I'll put another envelope in this letter with my address and a stamp already on it, just put your letter in it with the answer. I does not have to be a long letter or anything. I just really miss you guys. Please.)

So, so much love,

Andrew and Tara

 

Whizzer hates Tara. He really does. He hates the way that she talks to him, he hates the way she lays her head on his shoulder, he hates the way she is always fixing his hair, his tie, his collar, thinking that it is a cute gesture. 

"Tara, honey, please!" he begs as she is fiddling with his tie, making sure that it is straight. Why does it have to be straight anyways? Who gives a damn if it isn't? "What are you doing, babe?" Tara asks. She is always so nosy. And she is always talking, nagging Whizzer with a thousand questions. She is lucky she is so pretty. Looking so damn flawless on that polaroid he is going to send his parents. 

"Writing a letter," Whizzer gives in, because you have to answer your girlfriend when she asks a question and not just roll your eyes, wishing she would go away. "Oh, to whom, baby?" There she is again, with the questions. All those questions. Always those questions. He's frightened of questions. Always asking "do I look pretty?", "why do you never pick up when I call you", "why do you never kiss me?", "why haven't we had sex yet?". "Because I don't want to!" he says out loud and she frowns "you don't want to what, baby?" she asks. Again with the condescending nickname. Whizzer doesn't want to be a baby! Matter of fact, he's a man. He's the man in this relationship. She is the stupid girl and he is the strong man. Just like it is supposed to be. Just like every other couple. Just like his parents wanted. 

"I think you just need to relax." She smiles, running her hands down his chest. "I think I'm good, thanks" he denies it, trying to push her hands away. Her slim, tiny little hands. Her long nails, her soft skin. God he hates them. "Baby. Just let me help you!" She insists, sounding impatient. She has the right to be impatient, Whizzer knows that. They've been together for 3 months now and have kissed about 2 times, nothing more. He honestly does not know why she is staying with him, since he doesn't even have money to support himself, let alone be some kind of sugar daddy. 

He does look damn good though. She likes that. She always brags about him to her friends. So does he. Maybe that's just their kind of relationship: two pretty people acting like the perfect couple and making all of their friends and family jealous, while making themselves cry to sleep each night, not knowing how to escape this hell of a relationship without breaking up and destroying this perfect image and making their families say "oh, so he's gay after all, couldn't even keep his only girlfriend!". Or maybe that's just Whizzer and she just loves him, is a good human being and is willing to wait for him to be ready. It's probably just Whizzer. She's a fucking perfect angel. He still hates her. 

Her stupid hands are currently unbuttoning his shirt and he thinks maybe he can get through this. It is every man's dream to sleep with a pretty girl like Tara. It won't be so bad. His shirt is now open and she is surprisingly okay with him just sitting there, doing nothing, just breathing heavily. "Such a pretty boy!" She praises him and it feels kinda good. Maybe he likes this. He could like this. Her hands go down lower, unzipping his trousers, while pressing herself closer to him. He can feel the contours of her body against his. He can feel her struggling to get up one hand, guiding his own hand under her shirt while her mouth is pressed on his. She tastes like spearmint and kale. He wants to throw up. 

Apparently disappointed by his lack of action, she takes matters into her own hands, starting to slide her fingers under his waistband while her other hand is making his stay on her chest. He does not want to touch her chest. He does not care about it. Maybe it will feel good when she touches him, he decides, because if the edge of a table can feel good against his groin, so must her hand. So he pushes her hand further down, earning an excited squeal from her, but regretting it immediately. He feels her long nails, his whole body twitching heavily. She takes this as a sign of encouragement, beginning to give him long strokes, pressing her tongue in his mouth even further. 

Whizzer wants to cry. It doesn't feel good. 

He lets her do it anyways, because if not then she is gonna break up with him and then he does not have a pretty girlfriend to visit his family with. And he knows that this time, this time they are gonna answer his letter and he is gonna finally see them again and everybody will see his girlfriend and everybody is gonna be wrong about him being a screw up and a faggot. He gets hard eventually. It's just something bodies do. Bodies don't care about feelings. They can make you want to throw up and come at the same time, it really is a miracle.

She seems so much happier after he sullied himself in the white substance. She simply cannot stop smiling. She tells him she loves him. He tells her he loves her. He kisses her goodbye. He throws up. He cries in the shower. He finishes and sends the letter. He cries himself to sleep.


	3. Making a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What does "birthday surprise party" even mean? A birthday surprise party doesn't have to be a party that your friends throw to surprise you. By definition, it can also mean that you throw your own birthday party and your friends are surprised by it, because they all forgot your birthday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so so much for all your comments, kudos and subscriptions! I appreciate every single one of them (in fact I basically just stare at my phone all day, waiting for them, it's a really unhealthy obsession tbh). So please feel free to leave a comment and make me feel less pathetic, thank youuu.
> 
> Anyways, here's the new chapter. I know all my chapters are really dark, so sorry for that (or not sorry, if you are into that kind of fics, like I am). If you want a happier one inbetween, just let me know.

Dear Mom and Dad,  
it's probably for the best that you didn't answer my last letter and didn't invite me and Tara over, because we broke up. It was totally consensual, though. We just wanted different things from life, you know? But the single life in New York is fantastic! So many pretty girls, it's unbelievable. I meet a lot of them at the modelling jobs that I do. Most of the modelling is just for magazines that are only in New York, so that is why you haven't seen my face around on the shelves in Johnson's store, in Nebraska. But just you wait, I am really close to scoring a big campaign. Can't tell you what it is yet, of course. Top Secret. Guess what, I'm writing this letter on my birthday! Don't worry about sending me any presents, I got more than enough from my friends here. Today I had a birthday surprise party with them and it was super sweet. You probably send a letter or a card or something already and it just didn't arrive yet, so I am psyched for that.  
Love,  
Andrew and friends

 

What does "birthday surprise party" even mean? A birthday surprise party doesn't have to be a party that your friends throw to surprise you. By definition, it can also mean that you throw your own birthday party and your friends are surprised by it, because they all forgot your birthday. Or because they didn't even ask when it was in the first place. 

These were Whizzer's exact thoughts when his friends Marie and Tom blankly stared at him, sitting his apartment, eating a piece of cake. "Today is..your birthday?" Marie asked, frowning at him and he nodded, holding up a copy of the invitation he had given her, about a week earlier. "Oh, sorry, dude! Totally forgot that" Tom added, which was a very unnecessary thing to say, since they both stared at him as if he was the Ghost of Christmas Past (or rather, in Whizzer's case, the Ghost of Hanukkah Past). 

You know, words are incredibly complex. Things are summed up into one word, but they can mean totally different things. 

Take the word "apartment", for example. Whizzer's former definition of the word had meant a flat in a building with a bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen. In New York the word apartment apparently meant "a place with more than two walls". 

Whizzer's apartment consisted of exactly one room. One half was half-heartedly tiled, but that was about everything that defined it as "the kitchen area" since there was no oven or fridge, just two cupboards for all the plates and mugs Whizzer didn't possess. The other half had a very cracked linoleum floor (no carpet, in case someone decided to kill themselves in there. Blood leaves terrible stains), a mattress on the floor (Whizzer's most prized possession, since he had to buy it off a dealer for 50 dollars. Why the dealer even had a mattress, what it's formerly been used for and why he knew that Whizzer needed one, Whizzer did not want to know) and a little table with a chair. Where was the bathroom? In the coffee shop next door. 

Whizzer was sitting at the table , looking at his friends, who were standing in the door, after Whizzer had called them about a million times and asked where the hell they were. 

It was fine, really. Whizzer liked his apartment. Apartments in New York were very expensive and this was the one he could afford. Plus, if he was short on money some months, his landlord allowed him to pay his rent if he went down on him. That actually happened most months. Whizzer was very often short on money. 

He actually did have a couple of photo shoots and he had gotten money for them, but every time he would ask for which magazine or commercial they'd be, there just had been silence. They were also all companies that needed him to wear suspiciously few clothing, but it was fine, as long as they just gave him the money afterwards and didn't ask questions about his age.

"Can I have some cake?" Tom interrupted his train of thought. "Yeah, sure" Whizzer said, pushing it over to him. He was proud of the cake he had made. Since he had no oven, it was basically just plain store bought cake, but he had iced it and stuck 18 candles in it. It's the thought that counts, that was what his mother always had told him.  


His father had also told him that that applied on thinking about other men. "I don't care, if you didn't do anything with that poor boy," he had said, " the thought alone is a sin already."

"Thanks, man" Tom said. Marie didn't want a piece. Of course she didn't. She was one of those girls whose Daddy lets them go to New York for a "work experience" at one of his firms while still paying all of their bills. Whizzer had met her at a store on 47th Street where he had stopped her from buying the ugliest scarf Whizzer had ever seen in his life. From there on, she always called him about outfits and how to combine things in her closet. Whizzer didn't mind much, it was kinda fun. It would also be kinda fun, if they'd ever talk about anything other than clothes. But she didn't care much for Whizzer's life. She cared about the new trends in Vogue.

He knew Tom from the coffee shop next door. If you want to use their bathroom every day, you are bound to have some kind of human interaction with the workers there. Tom had been the most handsome out of the bunch of unmotivated, underpaid teenagers working there. So naturally, now they were friends. At least Whizzer thought so. Tom still had frowned at him and asked "really? me?" as Whizzer had given him the invitation to his birthday party. 

"So, I think we better get going now" Marie said, giving Whizzer a smile. They'd been in his flat for exactly 2 minutes. "Yeah..sure, I guess" Whizzer said, smiling back. Why was he smiling. They had forgotten his birthday and now they were going to ditch him after not even five minutes? "You want some cake to go?" Whizzer asked. He didn't have a fucking fridge, what was he supposed to do with all the cake? He spend half his rent on the ingredients. "Oh, no thanks! It looks great, though!" Marie lied and Tom nodded enthusiastically. A bit too enthusiastically. They hated it. 

"Well, bye" Whizzer smiled at them as they left. It was fine. At least he had friends to write his parents about. It was better like this anyways. He couldn't have written his letter with them around, talking to him and always interrupting him. It was still his birthday, it was a happy day. "Happy Birthday, Andrew" he sighed, being the only person to say that to him that year.


	4. Oh Whizzer, Whizzer Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Guys like red-square-tie-guy just needed this kind of treatment. They needed to feel important. Like you just moved around your biggest client just to make space for them. He was also totally checking Whizzer out. Whizzer just checked out that ring on his finger."
> 
> Throwing good ol' Marvin into the equation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is inspired by the song "Whizzer going down" from "In Trousers", cuz that song is a freaKIN BOP.

Dear Mom and Dad,  
I swore off the modelling and have a real job now. Although it was a big success, the people in the industry are just so shallow, you know? I don't want that, I wanna be a successful business man like you, Dad. So now I work in a photo studio. It doesn't sound like much, but it's really cool. I mostly get to photograph family portraits, which is fun. It also makes me miss you guys a lot, so if you wanna send me a letter back, that'd be great.  
By the way, I went to the movies yesterday and one guy in the movie was named Whizzer. What a cool name, don't you think? I don't know the meaning of it, but it's Jewish, and I was thinking about it being my nickname. I know it sounds silly but...I just really like it. Of course I like Andrew too. But - there are just so many Andrews. Especially in New York. And in New York you just gotta stick out of the crowd to be a success. I am sure you guys understand. It really is silly - I don't know, please don't be mad. It's just a nickname, like I said.  
Love,  
Whizzer (or Andrew, whatever you prefer)

 

"Fuck this," Whizzer sighed as he lay his pen down. There were never going to believe that he got the name "Whizzer" from a movie. What kind of movie would that even be? What kind of character would that even be? Probably the camp gay with the witty one-liners and the pink feather boa. Actually that sounded like a pretty cool character. Whizzer didn't even go to the movies, especially not in New York. Too many people, chatting all throughout the movie, babies crying, failed actors and playwrights complaining how much better they could have done it, it was a nightmare. He had made the mistake once to go see "Grease", which had been a great movie, but a horrible experience.

The true story of the name "Whizzer" was a long and complicated one: he shagged a guy in the bathroom stall of a 7-Eleven and before he left he had told him "Good job, Whizzer!" and given him 5 dollars and a coupon for a Slurpee. Okay, maybe the story wasn't that long, nor complicated.

Whizzer had absolutely no idea why that guy had called him Whizzer or why he had felt the need to recompense him in such a generous way, but he had gotten himself a cotton candy Slurpee and was on his way.

From then on, Whizzer always told the guys that he picked up at the bars, the clubs, the 7-Elevens and sometimes in front of the courthouse (divorcees were just really desperate and eager to please, okay?!), that his name was Whizzer. It felt fucking awesome. Hearing them moan it. Hearing them scream it. Sometimes it felt better than the sex itself (which wasn't that hard. While Divorcees were eager to please, they didn't succeed in it very often). But the name was his. It wasn't what his parents wanted him to be. 

See, when you name a child, you decide on how and especially who you want them to be. 

Andrew: Greek, for "strong", "manly". 

No. Just no.

Whizzer didn't consider himself to be strong and he didn't fucking want to be. He didn't want to carry around furniture and risk chipping his nails. He wanted to lay in the sun, watching a strong man carry his furniture around.

Nor did he consider himself especially manly. Whizzer liked manly. Whizzer liked broad shoulders. He liked sharp features and jaw lines. He liked men in suits. He liked them without suits. In fact, he liked them best, when they were wearing nothing.

Andrew: a name always in the top 30 for baby names. 

Everybody knows an Andrew. 

Nobody knows a Whizzer. Well, except for that family from the TV show "ALF", but they also know an alien, so whatever. What planet was the alien from again?

"Hello? Are you even listening to me?" Someone asked and Whizzer jerked his chin up, that had been resting on his hand. "Melmac" Whizzer mumbled, looking up at the customer standing in front of him. "Like from "ALF"?" The guy asked, frowning, and Whizzer nodded dumbly before pulling himself together again "Yes, how may I assist you, Sir?" he asked.

The man honestly looked pretty good. He could look much better though, if he would put any kind of effort into his appearance. He had brown hair and blue eyes, which was a really good base for a stunning look, if he would pair it with clothes that'd bring out his eyes more. Instead, the man was wearing a horrible blue and yellow button-up and the most despicable tie Whizzer had ever set his eyes on. For some reason, it was square, knitted and red. Whizzer honestly just wanted to see it burn. 

Overall, however, the man had a kind of charm. He looked like he hadn't slept since 1972 and like he hadn't properly slept with someone since..well, since he was born.

"-so that is why I absolutely have no time on Mondays and I have to reschedule," the man went on, Whizzer only now realising that he was still talking to him. Whizzer asked himself, if the man knew that the studio had absolutely no appointments whatsoever and that he didn't even have to make an appointment for a 5 hour long photo shoot, no matter what kind of passport photos that guy wanted. 

"Yes, Sir, absolutely no problem" Whizzer sighed, pulling out his planner, pretending to search for a free spot for an appointment, while the pages were totally empty. Guys like square-tie-guy just needed this kind of treatment. They needed to feel important. Like you just moved around your biggest client just to make space for them. 

He was also totally checking Whizzer out. Whizzer just checked out that ring on his finger.

Closet case, then. Interesting. Here to book an appointment for a family portrait, leaving with a crush on the photographer. He wouldn't be the first. He won't be the last. Whizzer was used to it.

"Yes, I can move this appointment to here and I will squeeze you in on Thursday at 9, that sound good?" Whizzer asked, giving him his best pretty-boy-smile and a cheeky wink, just to test out the grounds here. "Ye-yes, that'd be fine" the guy mumbled, still staring at Whizzer. Good looks really were a curse.

"Alrighty, then I will write that down right here! What's your name again?" 

"It's Marvin, just write down Marvin. And, uhm.. what's your name?"

"It's Whizzer. Whizzer Brown."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, I am pretty sure the show "ALF" came out way after Whizzer's death, but let's just pretend it lines up, cuz this is the only Whizzer on TV that I could think of.


	5. What I Love, I Devour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is how it always went: Marvin mocked him. About his clothes, about his job, about his gayness, basically about everything that Marvin himself was insecure about. Then Whizzer would yell. Then Marvin would yell. Then they'd have sex.  
> Then Marvin would fuck off back to his wife at the crack of dawn, leaving Whizzer alone in the cold, empty bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello gays, here's the new chapter  
> It takes place pre-canon, during Whizzer and Marvin's affair.  
> Enjoy the angst!

Dear Mom and Dad,  
Guess what! I've made a new friend and he's your dream come true. He's married to a beautiful woman, has a really smart son, a house in the suburbs (with his fucking mortgage already paid off) and a well paying job in a big firm in NYC. What a dream son, am I right? I met him and his family when I took their family portrait, they're all lovely people.  
We often play racquetball together, he's not as good as me and a pretty sore loser, but I guess everyone has their flaws. If you want, I could bring him with me, if you want me to visit you guys. I mean we haven't seen each other since you guys kicked me out. I think that he has a really good influence on me and makes me a better person. Let me hear what you think!  
Love,  
Whizzer

 

"I will fucking kill you, Marvin!" Whizzer yelled, chasing after the other man, who ran away from him and held his letter in his hand. Marvin put his hand in the air, waving the piece of paper around, grinning mockingly. "Oh, come on, Shakespeare!" he teased while Whizzer reached his hand out, trying to grab it, but Marvin quickly pulled the paper away again 

"Dear Mom and Dad," he started reading it out loud, "awww, Whizzer, that's so cute, you are writing your Mommy and your Daddy? Do they know that you slept your way through all the gay clubs in Brooklyn?" he asked, giving him a condescending smile, while jumping out of Whizzer's reach again. "I've made a new frien-" he started to read again, but Whizzer finally ripped the letter out of his hand, tearing the paper. "Fuck you, Marvin!" he said furiously, crumbling it up and putting it back into his pocket.

"Oh, come on, Whiz!" Marvin groaned, rolling his eyes. "You're not seriously mad at me for this, I was just teasing" "Oh, I am mad" Whizzer yelled, running his hand through his hair, pacing around the room, while Marvin just grinned at him.

This is how it always went. Marvin mocked him. About his hair, about his clothes, about his job, about his gayness, basically about everything that Marvin himself was insecure about.

Then Whizzer would yell. Then Marvin would yell. Then they'd have sex. 

Then Marvin would fuck off back to his wife at the crack of dawn, leaving Whizzer alone in the cold bed. 

Not this time, though. This time Whizzer wouldn't give in.

"Just fuck off, Marvin, just leave" Whizzer said, putting his hands on his hips while glaring at the smaller man. "Seriously?" Marvin asked, starting to get angry as well now "because of a stupid letter to your parents? Jesus, Whizzer, grow up" "Oh, I should grow up? Really? Me? Am I the one cheating on my wife? Am I the one abandoning his child? Am I the one who comes into his pants during sex?"

"That was one time, you jackass!" Marvin yelled back, "damn right I am telling you to grow up! Look at this place! You call this an apartment? There's no bathroom, there are fucking rats" "There are no rats here!" "Yes, there are! I saw one the other day! You don't even have a goddamn kitchen! But that's no wonder, because you also don't have job. You just lounge around all day, maybe go to the studio, take two passport photos and live off of my money and my presents, when we're not even a couple. We're not anything, I am just one of the guys that you sleep with for money! When have you ever given anything to me, huh, Whizzer? How many other guys do you scam on the daily? With how many do you sleep to get your stupid leather jackets?"

Sometimes, well, most of the times when Marvin yells at Whizzer, Whizzer zones out. 

Sometimes he lists the Yankees into categories from most handsome to least handsome or from totally super gay to kinda gay.

Sometimes he likes to think about what he is going to wear tomorrow (the light green button up, his brown pants and his leather jacket).

But right now he was studying Marvin's face.

Brown hair. Blue eyes. Pointy chin. Scruffy beard. Dark bags under his eyes. 

He looked tired. 

That's no surprise, he always looked tired. 

Although Whizzer considered Marvin to be an unreliable narrator in many ways, the stories he told him about his always nagging wife and super smart, but super snide kid, seemed to give him many reason to be tired. 

Especially considering that he spend his free time (and sometimes work time) having an affair with a man. 

Having an affair with a man was hard in itself. 

Sleeping with men was easy. 

Pick them up, have the sex, watch them leave. 

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Having an affair was hard. Constantly thinking of new excuses not to be home, constantly living with the guilt. Whizzer did not want to be in Marvin's shoes, but sometimes he wished that Marvin would see that it was difficult for him as well.

Difficult difficult, lemon difficult.

He obviously would never tell Marvin about that. About the guilt he felt, about how he felt like he was ruining a family's life. About how sometimes Whizzer felt like Marvin set him back. Like he was that young boy again, all in alone in New York, trying desperately to be straight. Sometimes Whizzer wished that he wasn't gay, that he hadn't met Marvin. 

In Whizzer's world being gay meant ruining families and Whizzer had done it with his own and was about to ruin another one, apparently. But he just couldn't stop himself.

"- and you know what, Whizzer?!" Marvin asked, Whizzer snapping out of his thoughts again, "I am sick of you just taking me for granted, while still sleeping around with everyone" "Oh, sorry, I'm not loyal! Last time I checked you were fucking married and I was just your fucking boy toy, but look who's talking" Whizzer replied. "Don't drag my wife into this, Whizzer, don't you dare" "Just-" Whizzer sighed before pressing their lips together just to shut him up.

This worked most of the time. 

The nice thing about kissing Marvin was that it did not only shut Marvin up, but it also shut up Whizzer's mind, which normally was always racing. 

When Whizzer had been younger, his parents had taken him to a lot of doctors. 

Well, to two doctors.

Well, to one doctor and to his aunt, who had opened a shop for chakra stones.

There weren't many psychiatrists in Nebraska, and his parents honestly weren't that concerned about him, to drive him to any doctor further away than 10 miles, for what they called "a problem that Whizzer made much bigger than it obviously was". 

Maybe that had been true, Whizzer really tended to have a flair for the dramatic. All Whizzer could remember was how he could never sit still and how sometimes his mind felt like it was racing so fast that it felt like it was moving away from him, how there had been so many thoughts in his head, so many questions, so many possible answers, that it started to hurt, how he could never concentrate on one thing, because it reminded him of a thousand other things and those reminded him of another thousand things, how the thoughts wanted to break out of his head, how he wanted to do a million different things, but all at once, how he would always start something, but get distracted and abandon it, because there were just too many things you could do and you had to try, but in the end he never finished anything.

It was probably just his flair for the dramatic, though.

The doctor diagnosed ADHD and his aunt gave him a pretty, blue stone called Lapis Lazuli. Whizzer preferred the stone, it sparkled then you held it against a light and he could throw it at the kids at school that made fun of him for taking ages to solve a maths problem.

So it was nice, when Marvin finally shut his thoughts up for once.

The things that followed, Whizzer could do without thinking and with his eyes shut. 

Actually, he had done them with his eyes shut a couple times before. 

Most of those times it had been a blindfold, sometimes he just willingly shut his eyes. Being gay in New York City wasn't always a jolly good time and some men were into some weird stuff.

Whizzer wasn't about to kink shame anybody, though. He was willing to do most of the stuff, if they were willing to make the next present for him a bit more expensive.

To be honest, Whizzer had forgotten more safe words during his years in the city, than Marvin had forgotten birthdays and anniversaries during his marriage with Trina.

Orlando (his personal favourite. There was just a really dirty vibe about everything in Florida to him), Banana, Pineapple, Tomato (he had absolutely no idea why the gay community in Brooklyn seemed to be obsessed with ruining the names of fruits for him), desk (the guy that had suggested that word did seem kinda shady) and his personal favourite: "safe word" (yup, just the word "safe word" as the safe word) (surprisingly from the guy with the most extraordinary kink, but whatever floats your boat). 

He didn't have a safe word with Marvin. 

That pretty boy was already overwhelmed by Whizzer sucking a hickey into his neck (of course high enough to not be covered by a shirt. Whizzer had his pride too and he was not going to play the obedient mistress, that covers up all her wrong doings. He wanted to see Marvin suffer, wearing a scarf during the summer, cursing Whizzer's name), so Whizzer didn't worry much about that kind of stuff.

There were a lot of other things that Marvin could make you worry about.

Like: "am I the person who is ruining a family right now?", "am I something that his child will tell his psychiatrist about, later in his life?", "what if I ruin his wife's life, because she can't find work after the divorce?", "what if his son becomes a murderer and they film a documentary about it and I am one of the reasons why - what if I'm the main reason why?".

Whizzer looked over at Marvin, who was still panting, pulling a blanket over their naked bodies, not bothering about the mess they had made on the sheets. 

It was funny to think about, how the man who was laying next to him, was everything his parents wanted Whizzer to be, but yet that they had ended up in the same dirty apartment, in the same bed. 

Whizzer thought about, how every decision they had made had been different, but how they had still found their way to each other. Maybe Marvin was not a good role model, or even a role model at all, but neither was Whizzer. Maybe they were just two fucked up human beings in a fucked up world.

"Marvin?" Whizzer asked quietly, running his finger over the cheek of the half asleep, naked man. "Yes?" Marvin mumbled, tiredly nuzzling his head further into the dirty pillow, but leaning into the touch, slightly opening his eyes. He gave Whizzer a little smile, his hair sticking into every direction, his hand resting on Whizzer's bare back, fingers tracing over it in tiny circles. 

Suddenly, Whizzer wanted to ask Marvin a million questions. 

Why do you always have to yell at me, do you actually think I prostitute myself for clothes, how much of the stuff that you yell at me to get yourself worked up for sex do you really think of me, do you think I am ruining your family, do you think your wife cries herself to sleep because of me, do you think we are horrible people for doing this.

"Who do you think would play me, if they'd make my life into a movie?" Whizzer finally asked, Marvin rolling his eyes "John Travolta, baby" he answered with a smirk, before taking Whizzer back into his arms. 

Whizzer remembered how much he had hated this nickname, when Tara had called him that, how he had felt like she was taking away his masculinity. When Marvin said it, it just made him happy. He didn't want to be the man. He just wanted to curl up in his arms and not think of anything. Not of responsibilities, not of money, not of guilt, of parents or of wives.

Marvin kissed him softly, pressing him closer to himself, his breath calmly against Whizzer's neck, and making Whizzer slip into the peaceful oblivion of sleep, before waking up again in an empty, marvin-less bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writings fanfics honestly brings you to the best websides. Who would have thought that for this chapter I'd end up on "crystalguidance.com" and on a side with the "Top 12 Most Kinky Safewords".


	6. Pretty Boys are in Demand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He was going to break up with him.  
> He was going to break up with him because he was bald, fat and ugly.  
> Great, he was going to break up and Whizzer didn't even look hot when he did it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my loves! Tis I!  
> Ok listen, I actually TRIED to make it a happy one at first, but I ended up deleting everything and wrote this instead.  
> Sorry not sorry.

Dear Mom and Dad,  
I'm doing great! I'm kinda in a relationship now and it's wonderful. We're super happy.  
I feel like my life is finally heading somewhere and I'm really optimistic about the future. I'm really inspired right now and moving out of my old, tiny apartment, ready to step up my game and get my life together.  
I think that this time, it'll really work.  
Love,  
Whizzer

 

One. 

Two.

Three.

Whizzer was sitting in front of his mirror, counting his hair.

Four.

Five.

Six.

He slowly pulled at each of the short strands, testing if they'd fall out easily.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

He was sure, he was getting a bald spot.

Ten. 

Eleven.

Twelve.

Ever since this guy in the bar had rejected him, he was sure he was losing his hair.

Thirteen.

"Oh, no thanks, honey," he had said, after Whizzer had given him his famous "pretty boy" smile and wanted to take him to the rest rooms to suck on something else than the straw of his martini.

He hadn't even been that good looking. 

Average, at best. 

But Whizzer had been willing to give him a chance. 

A chance that he obviously didn't want to take.

Ever since Marvin had started sleeping with Whizzer, he didn't go out that much anymore.

Not that he'd admit that to Marvin.

It was just that it didn't feel right anymore.

Not that Marvin was some kind of sex god and had ruined every other man for Whizzer.

God, no.

Or that Whizzer was afraid of Marvin judging him.

Nope.

In fact, Whizzer often made up men with whom he had supposedly slept just before Marvin came over, just to make him angry and jealous.

"Oh, yeah, because you're fucking John Travolta!" Whizzer had said to the man in the bar, but the man just laughed. "You just look like your ass already belongs to someone else, sweetie" he had said, before swaggering off to the restrooms, with some other twink on his arm.

As far as he was concerned, Whizzer's ass belonged to nobody except himself, thank you very much.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Whizzer looked up at his reflection in the mirror.

It had to be because he was losing his good looks.

He was losing his hair.

He was convinced of that.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Marvin and Whizzer weren't even a couple

Whizzer was just his fucking boy toy.

Marvin had his job, his wife, his kid.

He was never going to give that up.

Not for Whizzer, anyway.

Especially not for an ugly, bald Whizzer.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Lately, Marvin wasn't coming around very often anymore..

It was probably because of his hair falling out.

It was definitely because of his hair falling out.

Twenty.

Bald Whizzer.

Ugly, stupid, fat, mean Whizzer.

His looks was all he had.

He was a fag, a high school drop-out, good for nothing, doing nothing with his life.

Twenty one.

Maybe he could train more.

Maybe he could eat less.

Maybe he could look good without hair, if he weren't so fat.

Twenty two.

He started jogging on the spot, hand still clinging to his hair as he continued to count.

Twenty three.

He was panting already, but he didn't stop, picking up the pace.

Twenty four.

"And he's covering the base!" His TV blared in the background.

He was watching baseball.

The Yankees were playing against the Mets.

Normally Whizzer would be glued to the TV right now.

Not now, though.

There were more important things to be done right now.

Twenty five.

Whizzer felt like he was going to pass out.

He felt like he had to puke.

That definitely was the pizza he'd eaten earlier today.

He shouldn't have done this.

He was getting fat, ugly and bald and Marvin was going to leave him and no guy at the bar would go with him ever again.

Twenty six.

Whizzer sank down to the floor.

Twenty seven.

He kneeled in front of the wall, feeling tears welling up in his eyes.

God, what a fucking sissy bitch he was.

He punched the wall.

He punched again.

He punched it until he could see his blood marking the spot.

It didn't matter, he was getting evicted anyways.

Twenty eight.

He had received the eviction notice about three days ago.

"You can't fucking do that, I always pay my rent on time now!" Whizzer had yelled. "Yes, but I preferred your other kind of payment," his landlord answered, "ever since you meet with that old, closeted bastard, who pays all your bills for you, you have no time for me anymore". "That's disgusting, it's illegal, you can't do that!" "Maybe I can't, but I will. Get yourself a lawyer, if you want to, maybe your sugar daddy will pay for that too. And when you do, I'll just tell the judge about all your little meetings with men for money and we'll see." 

So, that was that.

Whizzer was getting kicked out of his flat for not sucking his landlord's dick enough anymore.

Whizzer was getting kicked out for not being gay enough.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

Twenty nine.

The doorbell rang.

Whizzer stayed seated.

It rang again.

Thirty.

Whizzer didn't move.

Again.

Thirty one.

Whizzer got up.

He opened the door.

Thirty two.

He stared at Marvin.

Thirty three.

Marvin stared at him.

Thirty four.

It took Whizzer a while to realise, why Marvin was shocked.

Usually, well, always, when they met, Whizzer had spend ages getting ready beforehand.

Of course Marvin couldn't tell and Whizzer wouldn't admit it.

Whizzer always looked sweeter than a donut.

Right now, Whizzer looked more like a garbage can.

He was wearing some baggy sweatpants, a shirt with grease stains, his knuckles were still bleeding and his other hand was still above his head, tangled in his messy hair. His eyes  
were in dark circles and he was still panting pathetically.

He didn't look like a donut, he looked like shit.

Thirty five.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Whizzer finally said, turning back around and walking inside.

Marvin followed, seeming unsure what to do.

He almost looked nervous.

That was new.

Marvin was never nervous.

Marvin was always so convinced he was right about everyone and everything, it drove Whizzer crazy.

Marvin looked tired.

That wasn't new.

He was always tired.

But this seemed to be a new sort of tired.

A "I-can't-sleep-because-I-worry-a lot" tired, not his usual "I-can't-sleep-because-I-try-to-coordinate-a-job-a-family-and-a-secret-gay-affair" tired.

He was going to break up with him.

He was going to break up with him because he was bald, fat and ugly.

Great, he was going to break up and Whizzer didn't even look hot when he did it.

"Oh, baseball" Marvin said, nodding at the TV.

Yep, he was definitely nervous.

Marvin hated baseball, he really did.

The fact that he even acknowledged it was almost surreal.

"Yeah" Whizzer answered, sitting down on his mattress that lay in front of the tiny TV.

Thirty six.

Maybe he could sleep with Marvin and he'd forget to break up with him.

Whizzer didn't really want to have sex right now, but he'd do it.

Actually, he often didn't want to have sex when Marvin came over.

Due to his wife, Marvin always came over at the most impossible times and always on short notice.

Although Whizzer always looked like a Greek God with a smug, flirty smile, when he greeted his lover, he didn't always feel like one.

Sometimes, Whizzer just wanted to sleep, sometimes he still felt bloated from dinner, sometimes he had just masturbated, sometimes he just didn't feel like it.

But it was what they did.

It was what Whizzer was good for for Marvin.

It was his role in this constellation, it was expected.

But right now, Whizzer didn't want to.

He felt gross.

He felt fat, gross and ugly.

And he was balding.

Thirty seven.

Whizzer lay down on the mattress.

His legs were killing him, they felt like jelly.

Thirty eight.

Marvin lay down next to him.

Whizzer felt nauseous, everything was spinning.

They could still have sex, though. Maybe it could work.

Whizzer felt Marvin lift up his hand, felt his lips on his knuckles.

This was probably just foreplay.

It was okay, though, Whizzer could have sex now. He'd just close his eyes and lie very still, but he could get through it.

"What'd you do?" Marvin asked and Whizzer realised he was inspecting the blood on his knuckles.

Awesome, now he was going to look gross, bald, ugly, fat AND psychotic.

"Nothing," Whizzer answered.

Marvin just nodded, placing another kiss on the hand.

Thirty nine.

Whizzer closed his eyes.

Forty.

He could feel Marvin take him in his arms.

Forty one.

Whizzer's head lay in Marvin's chest.

Forty two.

His arm was draped over his body.

Forty three.

Their legs were tangled together.

Forty four.

The faint light of the TV was shining through Whizzer's closed eyes.

Forty fiv--

Softy, Marvin removed Whizzer's hand out of his hair.

He kissed his head.

He nuzzled his nose into his hair.

Whizzer forgot how high he had counted till now.

"Whizzer?"

"Hm?"

"I left Trina."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I didn't mess up the counting, I was very tired when I wrote this, so please forgive me for this mess.  
> Btw, tell me if you think Whizzer would be for the Yankees or for the Mets


	7. I'd Kill for That Thrill of First Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Loving Marvin was like being on fire.  
> Always keep moving, keep alert.  
> Loving Marvin was like being on fire.  
> Keeping you warm."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, my friends.  
> For some reason, writing this chapter was a freakin challenge, I gotta tell you.  
> Anyways, it's a little bit on the happier side, so enjoy that!  
> See ya on the other side (aka the notes at the end of the chapter)

Dear Mom and Dad,  
My relationship is going great! We've moved in together and have dates at home and all that domestic stuff you always wanted me to have! It's honestly kinda thrilling, we're really happy.  
We have our fights, but I guess everybody does, don't they? I know you two did, but in the end you still always loved each other.  
Anyways, I'm sending you back the money I owe you from when I had to buy that ticket to NYC after you guys kicked me out. Maybe send me a letter back and tell me, if you got it alright. You could also write about how you guys are doing and stuff, I miss you.  
Love,  
Whizzer and M.

Rebound. 

That was probably the right word for it. 

Rebound.

Can you use that word in a sentence, please?

Whizzer was Marvin's rebound.

It's called overcompensating.

Like when you just broke up with your lovely, super sweet and caring girlfriend and then move on to dating the most fucked up, rude and badass girl to forget her and to tease her with.

An overcorrection.

A rebound.

Of course, Whizzer didn't see himself as much of a fucked up, rude, badass girl.

Well, maybe sometimes.

But at the times when he acted like one, Marvin could be damn right he deserved it.

They've been together for nine months now.

"Ten months!"

Whizzer could already hear Marvin correcting him in his head.

They had their domestic two room apartment, their own landlord who they've told they were just roommates, their own kitchen and their own washer/dryer.

Not that Marvin used any of it or was ever home.

It was Whizzer, always Whizzer.

Always cooking, always washing, always bravely acquiesce.

Whizzer's supposed to always be here.

That's what pretty boys should do.

Check their hairlines.

Make the dinner.

And love him.

Whizzer liked Marvin. 

Whizzer kissed Marvin.

Whizzer slept with Marvin.

Did Whizzer love Marvin?

He didn't know.

Love, [luhv], noun:

1\. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

2\. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection

3\. sexual passion or desire

In some ways it seemed to fit, in some ways it didn't. 

Being in love with Marvin was strange.

Whizzer knew what love was, he watched TV, for god's sake.

Love is when you see someone across the room and they're the most beautiful thing you've ever laid your eyes on. 

When you want to spend every second with them, feel all giddy and happy all the time and miss them like crazy every second they are not around.

When they chase after you in an airport or when they die with you after robbing a bank.

At least in movies it was.

Then again, in the movies it was a boy and a girl.

With Marvin it was different.

Sometimes Whizzer hated Marvin.

He hated the way he talked, the way he looked, the way he acted.

He hated it when Marvin would get so mad at him that he'd throw plates. 

He hated how Marvin would always point out his insecurities to him. 

He hated how Marvin could make him so angry that he would tremble and he would yell and hate himself for it afterwards.

The thing that Whizzer hated the most was, how easily Marvin could make him lose control.

Sometimes losing control felt good.

When he'd kiss you and you would just melt away, when he'd touch you and you'd just submit and everything else in the world seemed unimportant.

Sometimes losing control felt scary.

When you scream so much that you lose your voice, when words come out of your mouth that you can't take back, when tears run down your face, but you cannot stop laughing because of how ridiculous this fight is, because of how ridiculous every fight they had was.

Who cared if the fucking dish washer was still not unloaded?

Who cared if Whizzer forgot to iron Marvin's shirt?

Who cared if the dinner was not on the table yet?

Marvin cared.

He cared a lot.

Loving Marvin was thrilling.

It was like being on fire.

Always do the right thing, always jump around, keep moving before it kills you.

Every move you made had to be calculated.

In the end, every move was always wrong.

Whizzer still remembered this from his childhood.

His mother had always told him that to get what you want, you had to work for it. 

Now, if Whizzer wanted to sleep over at his friend's house or needed a signature for a field trip, he couldn't just ask his Dad for it, he'd have to make a plan.

Be on your best behaviour for at least three days before asking for anything.

Don't ask him when he just came home and don't ask him when he's just heading out to work, at that time he's stressed.

Don't ask him on the weekends, there he doesn't want to be bothered.

So Whizzer would just wait in his room, pacing around, always trying to figure out when to act, how to behave, in what manner he should speak, what words he should use, what he should do with his hands while talking.

In the end, it didn't matter what Whizzer did or how he tried to behave, because he was just internally the wrong thing to begin with.

A fucking faggot.

A rebound.

"That's life, Sweetie. He may be difficult, but we love him" Whizzer repeated his mother's words to himself before looking back down at the pile of laundry at his feet.

God, he hated doing chores.

But since Marvin was still working his old 9 to 5, Whizzer had just automatically slipped into the role of the domestic housewife.

"Oh Marvin" he sighed, a smile tugging at his lip as he sat down on the floor and looked through the horrible fashion choices Marvin had made through the years. 

The hideous plaid and striped shirts, lurking in between Whizzer's own, well-chosen designer ones.

Luckily for Whizzer, Marvin left the grocery shopping entirely to him and Whizzer had convinced him that in this economy the price for a single carton of milk was about 3 dollars, giving Whizzer plenty of room to put some money aside for more important stuff, like fashion.

He ran his hand over the soft lining of the shirt that Marvin had worn on their first proper date. 

It was an ugly, worn out plaid shirt that looked ridiculous in the florescent lighting of the Wendy's at 2am.

The food had been disgusting and the cashier had almost refused to serve them when she had seen Whizzer's hand in Marvin's, but Marvin had finally given in and Whizzer had gotten him so tipsy that he didn't seem to care anymore, if they were seen by anyone that he knew. 

As Whizzer folded the shirt he remembered his hands tugging at the collar, little kisses on the cheek, holding hands under the table.

He remembered how tired they had been that day, how he himself had looked like garbage, but how he had lied to him and told him that he always looked gorgeous.

Stuck in the sleeve of the shirt - Whizzer had no idea how exactly it got in there, but he sucked at doing laundry so whatever - was Marvin's famous red tie.

Why was it famous, you ask?

Because it was the ugliest thing humanity ever invented.

Yet, it was the tie that Marvin that he had worn when they had first met each other. 

To this day, Whizzer still had no idea how Marvin had spiked his interest, while wearing this monstrosity. He blamed it on the fact that it made Marvin really look like the maniac he secretly was, and Whizzer always had a thing for the psychotic guys in movies.

He had had a crush on Frankenstein's monster in second grade.

Marvin had also worn it on their second meeting, the shooting of the family portraits and ironically the day that they first kissed. 

After being about 45 minutes late and coming inside already fighting, Marvin and his wife, well ex-wife now, smiled painfully fake smiles into the camera, while their son refused to do even that. 

"Never, never, never!" had been the first words Whizzer had heard Jason say and they seemed to sum up his attitude towards his parents pretty well. 

After a few "Come on, Jason! We'll send this to Grandma, can you smile for Grandma?" and "Jason, smile, or we'll take away your chess game", surprisingly Whizzer had been the one to strike a nerve with the words "Hey kid, if you smile I'll give you my old baseball cards". 

The kid smiled. 

Whizzer got the fake perfect family picture. 

Marvin followed him into the back of the shop to thank him. 

"I'll charge you for those cards, you know" Whizzer joked, as he bustled around the shelves, searching for the box with his old stuff in it. "Oh, I bet you will" Marvin answered, Whizzer basically feeling the man groping his ass with his eyes. 

"Ah, there we are!" Whizzer grinned, getting the box down. It was an old shoe box from when Tara had bought Whizzer some "nice dress shoes" to wear to some stupid dinner in an overpriced restaurant that'd cost Whizzer a week's salary alone. 

"Hmmmm," Whizzer mumbled as he searched through the stuff in the box, Marvin bending over to see better, apparently so taken in that he forgot Whizzer's ass for a second. 

A rare occasion, indeed. 

"What's that?" swinging his finger around above all of the stuff in the box "you'll have to be more specific, Mr Marvin" Whizzer teased, before giving in "It's nothing, really. It's just a little memory box or whatever" 

"Can't you leave all your childhood stuff at your parent's house and they send it to you in regular intervals or sell it in yard sales without telling you, like every other human being?" Marvin asked and Whizzer smiled back, without answering.

Quickly he searched through the box that was filled with stuff that had been important to him years ago.

The stuff that when you think about if your house were on fire right now, what would you toss in a box and save before running outside?

If your dad kicked you out of the house right now, what things, what memories would you take with you, if you knew you might never see your family again?

Some baseball medals, some marbles, his old baseball cards, some notebooks.

Whizzer was incredibly bad at making rash decisions.

"Here you go, Sir," he teased, as he gave Marvin the stack of baseball cards.

Cards that were once again being used by a dad to buy his kid's love.

How ironic.

That was the moment they kissed.

Just like that.

Without much locking eyes, without long, longing gazes, without confessions of love, without angels singing and without a violin playing in the background.

It was short.

It was noses bumping into each other and cheekbones clashing.

It was Whizzer having to uncomfortably bend down while Marvin reached up.

It was Whizzer's hand on Marvin's tie.

It was beautiful.

Absolutely beautiful.

"Thanks so much, without you today my wife would have actually killed me today, if we wouldn't have gotten the perfect picture," where the first words Marvin spoke again, after they had let go of each other.

Of course she would.

Whizzer would never be like that, he would never blame his boyfriend for something that clearly wasn't his fault.

"Marvin, you fucking jackass, why is it so hot outside, it is all your fault!", he remembered his past self yell, as he picked up a pair of shorts.

Well, maybe sometimes he'd blame Marvin just a tiny bit.

Whizzer folded the shorts, grinning at the memory from a couple of months ago, when it had still been summer and he hadn't been a fucking housewife yet.

"Whizzer, where are you, we're gonna be late and Trina's gonna yell at me!" he remembered Marvin calling, closing the door of the apartment behind himself as he stepped inside.

"As if that's something new," Whizzer yelled from the bedroom.

"Where are you?"

"Where you spend the last 40 years of your life, Marvin."

"Hell?"

"Closet"

Whizzer stuck his head out, giving Marvin a quick kiss hello.

"What the hell are you doing in there? We gotta go," Marvin groaned, before realising Whizzer was butt naked.

"Whizzer..?" he asked "you want me to refer you to my psychiatrist?"

"That guy that's in love with your ex and only makes you angrier after every appointment? No, thanks, Marvin. I am perfectly fine, I am simply trying to figure out, what I'm gonna wear" 

"Just wear whatever"

Whizzer gave Marvin a look, starting to put on a shirt, but immediately unbuttoning it again, throwing it back on the floor. "Why is it so hot? I can't wear this, this is torture. This is your fault, Marvin"

"Whiz, I don't control the weather." 

"Yeah, well, you could try to, at least" Whizzer sighed, trying on a different shirt, looking at himself in the mirror of the closet. 

"Short sleeve button up, this looks fucking ridiculous!" he complained, taking it off again. "I can't work like this!" 

"Okay, calm down, Ms. Monroe, you're not going to fashion week, we're just going to the park with Jason, just put on a T-shirt!"

"A T-shirt?"

"A T-shirt."

"A T-shirt."

"Yes! A T-shirt!"

"You are killing me, Marvin. You are actually fucking killing me."

While Whizzer still searched through the closet, searching for something that wouldn't give him a heat stroke or a heart attack when he saw a reflection of himself of a window, Marvin walked over to the bed, dropping down onto the sheets.

Shit, he was gorgeous.

It was unfair, really fucking unfair, how Marvin could lay there, not able to care less about his appearance and still look good.

Quietly, Whizzer walked over, running his hands through Marvin's brown hair, that desperately needed a haircut and over his chest, his ugly grey T-shirt, the red zip-up hoodie, before catching a breath, turning back to the closet.

After a while, he softly nudged Marvin's shoulder.

"You done?" Marvin lazily opened one eye, reaching his hand out, as he pulled Whizzer next to himself on the bed.

"Yup" Whizzer grinned and Marvin finally opened his eyes, being greeted by the tall man, wearing some rainbow shorts that were too short for words and one of Marvin's old camp counsellor shirts from when he actually tried to get involved in Jason's hobbies.

"You like it?" Whizzer asked, still grinning, making him roll his eyes.

"I don't think I share your devotion to style, Whizzer." 

Loving Marvin was like being on fire.

Warm.

Whizzer lay back on the floor, smiling lightly, staring at the ceiling while holding Marvin's shirt close.

Love.

He nuzzled his nose in the shirt, feeling his cheek against the familiar scent, the soft fabric.

Love was warm, love was tender.

Maybe love was dinner at Wendy's, stolen kisses in back rooms of photo studios and silly red ties

Maybe this time, this time everything would be alright.

Whizzer closed his eyes, dozing off for a while, until an angry "what the FUCK, Whizzer?" woke him up.

Fuck.

5 o'clock.

His watch was already beeping relentlessly.

Marvin was back from work.

The flat was still a mess.

Maybe Marvin wouldn't care.

Maybe that was the new Marvin, the real Marvin.

The soft Marvin.

The Marvin that would just lay down next to him in bed and tell him it was okay.

The Marvin that really loved him and didn't just see him as a Trina replacement with a dick, a rebound.

But it wasn't.

Marvin stormed into the room, flinging the door open.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Whizzer? Late for dinner?! Late AGAIN?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started watching Smash (I'm at the end of season 2 already) and I feel like it's influencing my writing (see: Ms. Monroe), but it'S SO GOOD AND CHRISTIAN IN IT IS JUST YASSS.


	8. This is the Price, Making Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt like a 1950s housewife that had sacrificed her life for her man, quit her job, cared for the kids and then was left, being stranded with no savings, no job and no home.  
> Not that he had ever had a real job he could quit.  
> Or kids he had to care for.  
> Or a real home.  
> He had heard that Marvin had sold their flat and moved closer to Manhattan.  
> That rich bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, hello, I have returned!  
> I'm so sorry, but this chapter actually took AGES to write, I had a major writer's block and rewrote this SO many times, it was tragic.

Dear Mom and Dad,  
we broke up.  
Yeah, we broke up, okay?! I messed it up, who cares.  
Not that you guys care, not that you ever cared about anything, not that you ever cared about me.  
And that's the thing, I need you, okay?! I need you and I need help and I need advice, but you are not here, no matter what I try, you aren't here. Do you guys even read these letters? Probably not, you probably throw them straight into the trash.  
Since you won't read this anyways, how about I fucking tell you the fucking truth? How about for once we stop lying and we stop pretending. Because nothing is alright. Nothing will ever be alright in my fucking life and you arseholes are honestly just the cherry on top of the fucking shit that my life is.  
I keep telling myself how I don't want to be pathetic, but I just fucking am. I slept with a married man with a wife and a child and he left his wife for me. Ruined a family. And then we broke up. Ruined a family for nothing.  
So that's what I've been up to, not that you care, right?  
Honestly, fuck you.  
Whizzer

 

The setting: a hospital waiting room.

The year: 1980

Grey linoleum floor and chairs. Bulky wooden tables with magazines and overfilling trashcans. A white clock hanging opposite Whizzer's chair.

Ticking relentlessly.

tick 

tock

tick

tock

The room was crowded.

This was New York City after all.

A apparently very intoxicated teenager, a lady with terrible fashion sense, sporting a bright green windbreaker and some baby pink leggings, a man who's insisting on keeping hold of his beer bottle, although he finished it thirty minutes ago.

Whizzer just stared at the clock.

04:23 am.

tick

tock

Whizzer buried his face in his hands.

He was tired.

He was so, so tired.

This wasn't some cute "oh, I'm so sleepy" tired.

No rubbing-your-eyes-with-your-sleeves-cutesy tired.

This was full blown tired, tired-of-everything tired.

Tired-of-living tired.

A dark-bags-under-the-eyes tired, a headache tired.

This was some Pre-Divorce-Marvin tired shit.

tick

tock

But Whizzer didn't have a huge-ass house to come home to, no wife that had his dinner ready, and no son that, while annoying, could provide entertainment with a game of chess.

He felt like a 1950s housewife that had sacrificed her life for her man, quit her job, cared for the kids and then was left, being stranded with no savings, no job and no home.

Not that he had ever had a real job he could quit.

Or kids he had to care for.

Or a real home.

He had heard that Marvin had sold their flat and moved closer to Manhattan.

That rich bitch.

He himself moved into the back room of the photo studio, slept on a mattress on the floor.

Not that he was struggling to find a place to stay.

The reason that he could name at least 7 men's addresses plus their credit card information, who would be willing to take him in and let him stay in their flat for some occasional hook-ups was probably the reason why he and Marvin broke up in the first place.

Right now, however, he was sitting in a stupid hospital in Brooklyn at four in the morning.

tick

tock

It had all started with John, anyways.

Or with Jim.

Or with Mark.

Or with any other guy he hooked up with at the bar and who he didn't even ask their name.

They all kinda blurred together now.

There'd been that kid, maybe 20 years old, that came into his pants after making out for about ten seconds.

He had apologized, but Whizzer just pushed him out of the stall.

There'd been that old guy that hadn't actually looked that good, but he used the same aftershave as Marvin.

The drunk dude that had a faint resemblance to Michael Douglas.

That one man whose face Whizzer couldn't even remember, because he had been so fucking drunk, but his voice had been really soothing and soft.

One guy who Whizzer fucked just to steal his sunglasses (hey, before you judge him, they were Ray-Bans and definitely worth the 6 1/2 minutes that the guy lasted).

Another time he just wanted to try out how many guys named Lance he could fuck in one night (the answer was 5. It's really astounding just how many people named Lance hang out at gay bars).

But then there was John.

Lovely John, he had met 4 hours before ending up here.

tick

tock

He had been at a bar, like always, when the man came up to him, smiled at him.

"Hey, kid, you okay?" he asked, although Whizzer clearly wasn't a kid and he clearly was far from okay, since it was already 12 o'clock and nobody had flirted with him yet.

Well, nobody interesting anyway.

But this man looked good.

Like really, really good.

Like turning-your-head-on-the-street good.

He has slicked-back black hair that effortlessly fell perfectly into his face, deep brown eyes that made Whizzer's own look like the color of shit, while his looked like a warm mug of hot chocolate on a cold day in Nebraska, his teeth were white, not in an uncomfortable, but in a wow-he-cares-for-his-dental-hygiene way.

And he was smiling.

Smiling at Whizzer.

At ugly, balding, tired Whizzer.

"I'm fine" Whizzer managed to say, as the man sat down next to him.

"You look upset" Mr. Perfect disagreed, nudging Whizzer's shoulder a little "why's a pretty boy upset?"

"I'm not upset!"

"Okay then, nice to meet you, Not Upset. I'm John"

"Ah, Dad humour, I see"

"Oh, I'm not a Dad"

"That's good, had plenty of bad experience with those. I'm Whizzer, by the way"

"Yes, that is a much nicer name"

They just sat there, in silence, Whizzer drowning in the warmth of company.

Having company was rare for him these days.

When he'd been with Marvin, there was always someone around.

Always.

A nagging Ex-wife on the telephone, a hyperactive kid jumping around, a therapist telling him all kinds of things he didn't want to know and giving Marvin all sorts of advice that really didn't help.

Even when they weren't physically around, they were still there.

In Marvin's head.

And therefore also in Whizzer's head.

What would they think of this, what would they do in that situation, would they judge them if they did this or that.

John ordered Whizzer a drink.

And then another one.

And then another one.

And then another one.

"It'd help you calm down, honey," he said.

Maybe it would.

Maybe it would calm down the thoughts racing through Whizzer's head.

Thoughts tossing, turning, rushing, hastening--

Thoughts about Marvin, did he love Marvin, did he miss Marvin, did he hurt Marvin, did Marvin hurt him, did Marvin miss him, did Marvin love him.

They sat there for a while.

Just talking.

Whizzer didn't really know what about, he just moved his mouth as his head seemed to became increasingly empty, his thoughts wrapped up in cushions, like nothing could hurt him anymore, like everything would be alright.

They danced.

Whizzer felt free.

For the first time, he felt free from expectations, free from the hands of another man, of his Dad, of his boss, of Marvin.

John grinded against him while dancing.

He softly pushed him away.

He wanted to be free.

Just tonight, he was free.

Free from Trina, free from Mendel, free from Jason.

Free from Marvin.

John wrapped his hand around his wrist.

He pulled him to the restrooms.

He pushed him into a stall.

He pressed this lips against Whizzer's.

The door of the stall was still open and Whizzer could feel someone nudge him, telling him "you're a lucky boy!"

Maybe he was lucky.

John was gorgeous, he was nice, he was kind and he was kissing Whizzer.

Whizzer leaned his head into the kiss, moving his lips.

He did this all the time, anyways.

So why wouldn't he this time?

Everything could still be alright.

But it felt wrong.

He didn't want to do this.

He wanted to stop.

"John, I- I'm sorry, I just-" Whizzer mumbled, pulling back his head.

John was nice, he'd understand.

He'd be disappointed in Whizzer, but he'd definitely understand.

"Shut the fuck up," John said, harsh fingers turning Whizzer around, pressing his body against the wall of the tiny cubicle.

tick

tock

Whizzer tried to get away, to get out of the strong hold, but his head hurt, his sight turning blurry, every time he moved.

tick

"John, stop. Let me out." he clarified, because maybe John just hadn't heard him properly. He was a nice guy, he just thought Whizzer had been joking, that this was foreplay.

tock

"I didn't waste my fucking money and my time on you, just for you to leave now," John disagreed, shutting Whizzer up by pushing down his pants with one hand, while the other yanked at his hair, keeping him in place.

tick

tock

The next things hurt.

tick

They really, really hurt.

tock

He had no words to describe it.

tick

It was as if the world was standing still.

tock

He wanted to scream for help, to yell, to kick, but he didn't make a sound.

tick

Just a sharp, stinging pain that went through the whole body.

tock

Loud, rattling moans into his ear.

tick

His own body slamming against the wall with every thrust.

tock

Deep, red scratches on his waist.

tick

White liquid running down his leg, into his pants, that lay bunched up at his feet.

tock

On the designer fabric, fluid was mixing with blood.

tick

tock

Then John left.

He didn't say anything.

He just left.

At least Marvin had yelled.

The silence was worse.

Whizzer wished for his thoughts to come back to his head, to kill him with over thinking everything, with new ideas and plans coming and leaving his mind every second, but there was just silence.

tick

tock

tick

tock

tic-

"Are you okay?" A voice asked and he slowly moved his eyes away from the clock and to the woman that was looking at him as if he was the most pitiful thing she'd ever seen. She had blonde hair in soft curls and shining blue eyes that were very different from Marvin's blue eyes, since they had no trace of bitterness or 40 years of build up sexual frustration in them.

Whizzer didn't answer her, because he didn't want to talk, because his arse burnt like hell and because she probably was the kind of person that looks nice at first, but then tells you to go burn in hell, her husband was probably a doctor and later he'd tell her all about Whizzer's ass and his disgusting wound there.

"It is appalling to see parades in San Francisco and elsewhere proclaiming 'gay pride' and all that. What in the world to they have to be proud of?" - Nancy Reagan.

Nancy Reagan, wife of the President.

What a world he lived in.

He shouldn't even be there anyways.

It was honestly nothing.

They'd just laugh at him.

He was fine.

He wasn't even that hurt.

He was overreacting way too much, just a little blood and he ran to the emergency room like a baby.

He was fine.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

Not like it could give anyone any diseases.

He did it every night anyways, what was the difference this time?

A tiny bit of blood.

Ridiculous.

He stood up.

Went back to the studio, to his mattress on the floor.

He stopped at the door, a note hanging from it.

 

"Hi Whizzer!  
I have a baseball game on Saturday (East Side Middle School, 331 E 91st St.)  
Please, please come.  
I miss you,  
Love,  
Jason"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really story for the plot of the chapter, but it is grounded in reality. In the 1980s not only the HIV rate sparked, but also the rate of rapes. As sad as it is, I think you should talk about it and I just couldn't shake off the idea of Whizzer being affected by that. I'll definitely add a trigger warning for this fic, though.  
> Whoever's first to crack the suuuper, mega challenging mystery who the blonde woman in the hospital, visiting her "husband" (wink, wink) is, comment down below and get your first name to be in the next chapter! (how very exciting, I know)  
> Btw, I actuALLY GOOGLED "what is the gayest name" for the "fucking every Lance in the bar" passage and I just really liked the name. So shout-out to all the Lances!


	9. A Song I've Been Waiting to Hear For Much too Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't think anymore, couldn't walk straight, couldn't hear Marvin fall down from the couch because of him and hitting his head on the coffee table. He hurried to the bathroom, dropping down on his knees, before throwing up into the toilet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friends, forgive me for I have sinned. Last week, I ended the fic before its time. So now I am resurrecting it and adding two new chapters before posting the end again! (well, one new chapter for now, I'm still working on the second)  
> I'm sorry about the confusion, I actually planned it to end with the last chapter that I posted, but you guys seemed to be so into it and had such great ideas, that it just didn't feel right anymore.  
> So this one is about Marvin and Whizzer getting back together and then the next one which will be about Whizzer trying to deal with his illness.  
> Have fun and see you at the other side (aka the notes at the end)

Dear Mom and Dad,  
Sorry for the last letter-  
I-  
Life is going pretty good.  
Sorry, that I told you about Marvin and the whole gay thing and everything. But also I am not really sorry. But I am.  
I don't know anymore, I don't think I know anything anymore, to be honest.  
I'm gonna go to Jason's baseball game today. I don't really know why either. It's silly.  
Sorry again, I guess.  
Love,  
Whizzer

 

"So...what do you think, Brooklyn Boy?" Marvin asked Whizzer, grinning as he waved his hand around to signal for Whizzer to tell him his opinion about his apartment to which he had brought Whizzer after Jason's baseball game.

To thank him for helping Jason, he said.

To catch up and chat a little, Whizzer said.

To sit together in awkward silence and then have sex, they both meant.

Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that overlooked the living room, and all that on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

"What exactly is your job again?" Whizzer replied, strolling around the living room running his fingers over the backrest of the couch, "I'm just curious, so that I can apply for it and not work at all all day long, while still earning this much money."

"I work, Whizzer!" Marvin disagreed, rolling his eyes, as he dropped down on one of the soft, white couches. "I've been putting in a lot of extra hours lately since, you know, Jason doesn't really want to come and you've been gone and everything."

And there it was.

The elephant in the room.

The emotional weight of two years pulling them down, drowning them, suffocating the hope out of everybody involved.

How were they supposed to go on after everything that had happened because of the break up.

After everything that never happened because of their break up.

He sat down next to Marvin, tilting his head as he spotted a painting on the wall. It was an oil painting with all kinds of crazy colors, yellow and blue bold strokes setting a background behind light pink contours, forming some sort of spirals and ovals. "What's that?" Whizzer frowned, tilting his head the other way to see if it would make any sense like that, but before he knew what was happening, he felt Marvin's lips on his.

Kissing Marvin was different than it was two years ago.

Kissing Marvin was exactly the same as it had been two years ago.

The familiarity of the touch was what almost broke Whizzer.

This ache you finally realize you had for all this time, suddenly rushing to your body, trying to get its fix, desperately trying to hold on to something that once was lost forever, but that came back to you in the most unexpected way.

Like when you don't realize you've been hungry until you eat something and suddenly you feel like all this time, you've been starving.

Like an old favorite song that you haven't heard in a while and then it plays again and all your memories, all your feelings rush back into you.

And the best part was that Marvin felt the same way.

It was the way that he held on to Whizzer's jacket, how he grabbed it tightly, afraid to let go for even a second, as if Whizzer would disappear if he stopped touching him.

Whizzer put his hand on Marvin's, slowly guiding it down to rest on his leg, before taking off his jacket, dropping it down on the parquet.

You see, the word parquet describes a type of hardwood floor. The use of the word hardwood floor in this context would be rather unprofessional, yet a great pun for the state that Marvin and Whizzer were in at that moment. Hard wood, indeed.

A couple moments later, Whizzer found himself laying under Marvin on the white couch that was actually way too expensive for two half naked men to lay on, panting and sweating. Whizzer's body lay under Marvin's, skin on skin, the younger man gazing up at the older, running his fingers through his hair.

A moment of silence, like the calm before a storm.

It was as if they knew that if they went on, if they went further, it would be real.

That then the confusion would start again.

Were they back together now? Did they still love each other? Did they ever love each other? Did they ever hate each other? Would they break up again? Did they have to talk about what happened during the 2 years they were apart?

But right now, the world was on hold.

That glorious in between state, when the universe seems to stand still just for a bit.

That moment when you wake up at night and it is way before your alarm goes off and suddenly you are free. You don't have to do anything, there are no hurdles to run, no tasks to be done, at that time there is nothing expected from you. You just slip back off to sleep, you just lay there in the peaceful oblivion of the rest of the world existing.

Then Marvin slowly bend his head back down, kissing Whizzer again, setting it back in motion.

The rest of the clothes falling down the couch, lips on Whizzer's neck, hands on his hips, wandering down, grabbing him a bit tighter to help him turn around.

And suddenly Whizzer felt like he was on a rollercoaster.

Like he was losing control, like his head was spinning and he froze.

"Whiz?" Marvin asked, tilting his head back to look into Whizzer's eyes, his grasp on his hips loosening "you okay?"

"Yes, yes" Whizzer breathed out, nodding for Marvin to go on.

It was just Marvin.

This was just Marvin.

He reached his hand out, holding Marvin's face still, to look at it once again.

The big blue eyes, the too long, messy brown hair, the chapped lips.

He calmed down again.

He was save.

This was just Marvin.

This time it was Marvin who touched him.

And god, he wanted Marvin to touch him.

Whizzer nodded again, letting go of Marvin's face, feeling the other man turn him around completely now, so that he lay stomach first on the couch.

Hands on his hips.

Whizzer felt like he was back on the rollercoaster.

Hands pushing him down.

His head was spinning.

Hands holding him firmly.

He couldn't breathe anymore.

Panting in his ear.

He felt like he was suffocating.

Hands in his hair.

He couldn't see Marvin anymore, how could he be sure he was still there?

Lips on his neck.

He was back in the cubicle with John.

Fingers digging into his skin.

He wanted to scream and to kick.

Moans into his ear.

He wanted to die, anything, just to stop the thoughts in his head, the feeling like he was going to drown, like he was on fire, that feeling that any second now, his head would explode.

Hands yanked at his hair.

With all the power he could gather, he jumped up.

He couldn't think anymore, couldn't walk straight, couldn't hear Marvin fall down from the couch because of him and hitting his head on the coffee table. He hurried to the bathroom, dropping down on his knees, before throwing up into the toilet.

He didn't feel the ice cold tiles against his skin, didn't hear Marvin call for him, he didn't even feel his own body being overwhelmed with the overbearing pain.

This overpowering pain.

This pain that starts in your head and then goes through your whole body.

At this moment, he didn't feel anything, but he also felt everything at the same time.

His hands were clenched around the sleek, white toilet seat, while he retched.

His knees were struggling to find a grip on the smooth, tiled floor.

With every gag, a stray of hair constantly bounced in front of his eyes.

But he didn't feel anything.

But he felt everything.

When he came back to his senses, he noticed the blanket around his shoulders. He sat back from his cowering position, loosening his grip to the toilet seat, being able to make out Marvin, who was sitting on the floor. Marvin was leaning against the bathtub, watching Whizzer with a worry in his eyes that should be reserved for dying puppies or for the lonely kid being picked last at P.E., not for another grown man.

He was fully dressed again in his tacky khakis and red zip-up hoodie, and he had put down Whizzer's clothes in a neat pile next to him. Well, at least as neat as he could, since he knew that Whizzer liked his clothes to be folded accurately, he seemed to have tried his best at it. They still looked like more like a pile of garbage, but who can blame the man, nobody ever taught him how to properly fold clothes anyway.

Apparently, he had draped a big, warm blanket around Whizzer's shoulders that Whizzer still knew from when they had lived together. It was the blanket that Marvin always tucked Jason into, when he slept on the couch, now it was used to keep the nude man cowering on the bathroom floor warm.

Marvin didn't speak, but he handed Whizzer a glass of water that he seemed to have been holding for a while now, making Whizzer wonder for how long he had been throwing up and lost in his own mind.

He took the glass, their eyes meeting for a second.

Suddenly, Whizzer felt nothing but disgust.

Not for Marvin, but for himself.

He was disgusting.

He was absolutely pathetic.

He was ruining everything.

Like always, he was ruining everything.

"Get out." he told Marvin, who was startled by the abrupt disturbance of their silence.

"What?" Marvin asked, but Whizzer just glared at him.

He glared at him, because he didn't know what else to do.

Didn't know how else to show him that he was not this whiny, pathetic, disgusting little baby here on the floor.

Not that tiny helpless creature that needed his help.

"Get out!" Whizzer yelled and he hoped that Marvin would yell back.

That they were equal again, two grown men yelling at each other.

But Marvin didn't.

Slowly, he stood up, kissed Whizzer's head and walked to the door, sitting down just inches behind the threshold of the door. He didn't grin, he didn't mock Whizzer with an 'see?! I'm out of the room!', he just sat there, unwilling to leave Whizzer alone.

Whizzer got up as well, slamming the door shut right in front of his face.

His stupid, gorgeous, caring face.

His stupid worried face.

What if, from now on, he would always react like that when someone touched him.

In that case, things with Marvin would end soon enough.

Fighting and sex, that had been their whole relationship, why would it be different this time?

He strolled over to his pile of clothes, but couldn't bring himself to put them back on.

Instead he looked through the laundry basket, finding one pair of Marvin's old sweatpants and a T-shirt, putting them on.

He recognized the clothes.

He had washed them a thousand times, he had folded them a thousand times, he had taken them off Marvin's body a thousand times.

But most importantly, they smelled like Marvin.

Like a time before all of this.

Before all of this drama, this insecurity.

Like first love.

Like home.

He took a deep breath, sinking back down on the floor.

He looked at the glass that was still in his hand, taking a cautious sip. Apparently Marvin put some aspirin in it, his headache getting better with every sip that he took.

Still, the world was spinning.

Slowly, he lay down on the ground.

He pressed the blanket to his body, running his fingers over the fabric, before he dozed off.

When he woke up again, it was pitch dark outside.

That was good.

Really good.

Surely, Marvin went to bed already and he could just sneak out.

He stood back up, picking up his clothes from the floor, to leave. He couldn't bring himself to take Marvin's clothes off again, so he just put on his shoes and his jacket (which frankly looked absolutely horrendous. His dress shoes, a leather jacket and some Walmart sweatpants and a Star Wars T-shirt.)

He quietly opened the door, the living room totally dark as well.

So far, so good.

Then, he took a step and immediately tripped and fell face first on the carpet.

"For fuck's sake" Whizzer mumbled, scrambling to get back up before he realized that the thing he tripped over was in fact Marvin.

Marvin didn't seem to have moved even an inch. He lay on the ground in front of the bathroom door, curled up and asleep, in the most uncomfortable looking position of all time.

Whizzer rolled his eyes, kneeling down next to the sleeping man.

He knew that this was his chance to leave.

That he could still sneak out unnoticed.

Forget about all this.

But he just couldn't.

He just had to tell Marvin something.

He softly tucked Marvin's hair back, bending down so he could whisper in his ear.

"You're such a fucking idiot" he said at full volume, grinning as he watched the older man getting startled and twitching wildly as he woke up, knocking over a side table, the pictures and books on it tumbling to the ground.

"God, I hate you," Marvin replied, but greeted Whizzer with a sleepy smile and two arms that pulled him next to him on the floor. "You feeling better?" Marvin asked as he gave him a heart-wrenching smile and a kiss and only now Whizzer saw the bruise on his head from when Whizzer had basically thrown him off the couch and against the coffee table. 

Whizzer nodded, trying to move Marvin's hair around, to see the bruise, but Marvin moved his hand away. "Listen, Whizzer. I'm really sorry, I don't know what happened, but if I hurt you in any way or..-"

And in this moment, Whizzer broke.

And he couldn't deal with this, with Marvin thinking that he had done something wrong.

That he had made Whizzer throw up and yell at him.

That it was his fault, when it was Whizzer's.

Whizzer's for being so weak.

Whizzer's for being so dumb.

Whizzer's for being so cheap.

And then he told him.

There, laying on the living room floor.

He told him about what happened at the bar.

In the cubicle.

With John.

Marvin didn't say anything, until Whizzer was finished.

He didn't say how sorry he felt for Whizzer or gave his condolences or a pat on the back.

Instead, he touched his arm again. This time, Marvin's touches were gentle, almost afraid, never taking control.

Marvin looked at Whizzer, his hair in a wild static, a million little marks on his face from the carpet, but his eyes worried and aware. Silently, he guided Whizzer's body and hands, until they lay there with Whizzer behind Marvin, spooning him.

This had never happened before.

Marvin didn't want to be spooned.

Marvin was the real man in the relationship.

He had always made that especially clear and not up to debate.

But this wasn't Marvin from two years ago.

Whizzer's arms were tightly around Marvin and Marvin's body was pressed against Whizzer's. Whizzer had one hand in Marvin's and one hand on Marvin's torso, feeling his heart beating against his chest.

"Whizzer?" Marvin whispered after a while.

"Hmh?" Whizzer mumbled.

"The painting on the wall that you were trying to figure out what it is earlier..-"

"Yeah? What is it?"

"It's a bunch of dicks."

And at this moment, nothing had to be said.

And at this moment, everything was said.

And at this moment, Whizzer knew what unconditional love felt like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a prompt I got from a very sweet commenter on the last chapter. So if you're reading this please, please let me know, if you liked what I did with your idea.  
> I was actually planning on just incorperating the prompt into the chapter in which Whizzer discovers his illness and struggles with it and all that jazz, but I completely escalated and it got wayyy too long soo yeah. Also: I literally wrote this whole chapter last night at 12am with "Pirelli's Miracle Elixir" stuck in my head, and now I am SO tired, but I just couldn't stop.


	10. Then the Scene Turns to Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whizzer knew he was going to die.  
> If you think about it, everyone of us has to die at some point.  
> The difference was just that Whizzer was a man in his prime.  
> And he was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O-M-Gosh, YOU GUYSS.  
> This chapter took FOREVER. I am telling you FOREVERRRRRR.  
> I don't really have anything to say beforehand, sooo enjoy?

Dear Mom and Dad,  
Everything here is going pretty well.  
We're planning Jason's Bar Mitzvah, so that's exciting.  
I have a cold.  
I think that's all for now.  
Love,  
Whizzer

 

"Whizzer? Whiz, wake up!" 

Whizzer felt a cool palm against his cheek.

"Fuck off, Marvin…" he mumbled, turning away from the man who was crouching next to the bed.

"Wake up, I have to go to work!" Marvin insisted, making Whizzer groan, "good lord, then just go and let me fucking sleep!"

"No, Whizzer! I'm going to work!" Marvin repeated, Whizzer finally realizing what he meant.

He was going to work again.

The last few days Marvin had stayed home with Whizzer.

What had started out as a sore throat and an itch on his forearm had quickly turned into a full blown flu and a rash that went from his ankles to his neck, little red dots sprinkled all over him, as if to mock him for making fun of Marvin that one time he had found a tiny freckle on his back.

Whizzer had told Marvin that he was fine.

That he could stay home by himself.

That was until he broke down while playing racquetball.

After that, Marvin stayed home.

He brought him medicine and tea and all that stuff.

It didn't really help.

But Whizzer pretended it did.

Because it helped to have Marvin around.

To see Marvin.

To hold Marvin.

That helped.

"I'm sorry, my boss is a fucking maniac! He called this morning, said if I don't get my ass to the office he's gonna -- god, I hate this." Marvin sat down on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

He was already ready to go, dressed in his two-piece suit that Whizzer had bought him a couple of weeks ago, and still holding on to his old briefcase in his hand, trying to shut the clasp that'd always come undone.

Whizzer had asked him a thousand times why he didn't just toss that old thing.

Why he didn't buy a new one.

One where the where the clasps closed.

Where they were still shiny.

Where the color didn't chip off and where there were no remnants of finger paint from Jason's early years on the handle.

'Because I like it', had been Marvin's answer every time.

Whizzer had always thought that this was incredibly stupid.

He didn't anymore.

Now Whizzer felt like he never wanted Marvin to get rid of the briefcase ever.

He crawled closer to him, laying his hand on Marvin's.

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine, Marvin," he assured him.

"You're still burning up!" Marvin disagreed, his hand back on Whizzer's forehead, stroking the strays of hair glued to it aside.

"I'm not a little kid, I can manage to stay alive until 5 o'clock"

"I know you can, but I'd rather be here. Call me, if you need anything, okay? Just tell Rhonda it's you and she'll put you through immediately."

"Who's Rhonda? Are you having an affair?" 

"She's my secretary!"

"That's even worse! You have a secretary now?" Whizzer rolled his eyes.

"I am full of surprises," Marvin answered, chuckling as he saw the look on Whizzer's face, "I don't usually, they just put her in charge to manage my appointments while I was gone. Maybe she can take over today as well…- maybe I can stay home, if I explain to her that-"

"That your gay lover has a tiny cold and you need to stay home for another week? Great plan! You already lied to them about you being sick for the whole last week, Marvin!"

"It doesn't seem like just a cold. After that racquetball game Charlotte said-"

"She said they'd run some tests, but that it's probably nothing, so don't worry about it."

Whizzer looked at Marvin, his face softening a little bit. He reached his hands out to fix his tie as good as he could, without actually sitting up.

"Being sick is boring," he complained, "tell me about Rhonda," he demanded, pulling Marvin closer, holding on to his collar "what's the sitch?"

Marvin scooted down from his sitting position, now laying next to Whizzer, before he buried his face in his neck. 

"She's pretty nice," Whizzer heard him mumble, feeling Marvin trying to shrug, but it was pretty complicated to do so in that position.

"Pretty nice? That's all you've got?"

"She's a good secretary," Marvin answered, running his finger over Whizzer's face.

"Spill the tea, Marvin," Whizzer insisted.

"I don't know what that means"

"Why am I even with you?" Whizzer complained, glancing down at Marvin's face.

His blue eyes.

His messy brown hair.

He kissed his forehead.

"You have to go to work" he reminded him, making Marvin burry his face deeper into his neck, before sitting up again.

"And you'll be fine?" 

"I'll be splendid, get off my ass."

Marvin stood up, picking up his coat.

"Call me." He insisted, bending down to kiss Whizzer, before making his way to the door.

"Oh, Whizzer?" he said, as he stepped outside.

"I'll be fine, Marvin!" Whizzer groaned, but Marvin just smiled.

"Rhonda's got a real annoying voice, her husband is a closeted homosexual, he hit on me like five times, her son stole a car and mind you, he's around Jason's age, and she spikes her coke with alcohol when she thinks nobody's looking. And THAT'S how you waste the coff- tea!"

And just like that he left, closing the door behind him.

The door opened again.

"Did I say that right?" Marvin asked, sticking his head back in, "that tea thing?"

"Not in the slightest"

"Hm, oh well. Bye, Whizzer"

"Bye, Marvin. I'll call you."

Whizzer knew he was going to die.

If you think about it, everyone of us has to die at some point.

The difference was just that Whizzer was a man in his prime.

And he was going to die.

Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia.

Gay-related immune deficiency.

The gay plague.

It had many names.

And still nobody knew what it was.

Whizzer didn't tell Marvin.

He didn't tell him that he had seen all the signs before.

Didn't tell him about the people he knew from gay bars, from pubs, vanishing one day and never turning up again.

The day they were brought to the hospital, they would never walked out of there again.

Whizzer stared at the picture above their bed.

A white calla lily.

Charlotte had said it was probably nothing.

Charlotte had lied to them.

He appreciated that.

After the game, after his break-down, they poked needles into his skin, they took his blood pressure, they looked at his rash, they poked a cotton stick around in his mouth, they whispered to each other, wrote down hurried notes, gave each other knowing glances.

Then they told him everything was going to be fine.

That they'd call him when the results were in.

It was probably nothing.

Just a little cold.

Just low blood pressure.

Just being overworked.

That's what they had said.

That was when they had lied.

Whizzer felt like he was burning up.

He felt like his throat was made out of sandpaper.

His bones out of glass.

His head out of jello.

Basically, he felt worse than any bad simile can describe.

He looked over at the phone, wondering when it'd ring.

When they'd tell him what he knew all along.

When it'd still change his whole life.

Marvin's whole life.

Their whole life.

Together.

He couldn't bear the thought.

Of it all falling apart again, of them having to pick up the pieces.

Of himself not being able to pick them up anymore, not being able to make it right again.

He hated himself.

He hated himself for bringing this on Marvin.

For bringing this on Jason.

For bringing this on Charlotte.

On Cordelia, on Mendel, even on Trina.

It wasn't fair.

He wasn't being fair to them.

Coming back into their lives, only to mess it up, to ruin everything, to die.

For what?

For a couple months of happiness for himself.

Then watch Marvin crash and burn, while Whizzer just died.

Just disappeared.

Just left them.

Again.

Slowly, he stood up.

Walked over to the telephone.

The deliverer of deadly news.

He was afraid.

He was afraid that it'd ring.

Because then it'd be real.

He kneeled down, slowly running his fingers over the sleek plastic.

Then, in a sudden motion, in a burst of anger, he ripped out the telephone cord.

For a second, he stared at it.

Didn't know what to do, didn't know if he had finally lost his mind.

Didn't know why it felt so good.

He kneeled on the floor, not knowing what to do.

Then an idea came to him.

He should cook.

Prove that he was useful, after all.

Whizzer walked up to the kitchen, hands steadying themselves on the counter. He opened the drawer, getting a pot out, setting it down on the stove.

He smiled.

He was doing great!

Marvin had no idea of what he was capable of, even when he was sick!

He took out a bag of spaghetti and even remembered to break them in half, before he dropped them down in the pot, turning the stove on.

He felt like a real housewife.

Cooking for her husband, receiving him at the door with a kiss and a meal on the table.

Two years ago, the thought had horrified him.

Now it was all he wanted.

Okay, maybe not the housewife thing.

But doing something to make Marvin happy.

To finally make him relax.

And not just do that with sex.

With glassy eyes, Whizzer observed the pot.

He felt like he was forgetting something.

He put his chin in his hand, staring at it.

Smoke was rising up.

Not steam.

Not the delicious steam that rose from the pot, filling the house with a comforting scent.

Smoke.

Black smoke.

Where was the steam?

Why wasn't there any steam?

Where did the steam normally come from?

Water.

Whizzer had forgotten the water.

"No, no, no," Whizzer cursed, quickly lifting the pot off the stove, dropping it and the smoking mess of dry noodles in the sink.

Fucking great.

What an amazing housewife he was.

He stared at the pot, in that second almost wishing he'd just die now, so that he wouldn't have to clean up the mess.

But at the same time he couldn't bear the thought of Marvin seeing it.

Seeing how much Whizzer apparently needed him.

How fucking stupid and sick Whizzer was.

He walked back to the sink, rubbing the sponge over the burned remnants.

He did it gently at first, then, when it didn't come off, he increased the speed.

He rubbed it against the metal as hard as he could, clenching the tiny yellow sponge, his hand hitting against the inside of the sink.

It still didn't come off.

He got angry, didn't care anymore, he just wanted the dirt to come off.

He just wanted the pot to shine again.

To not be stained.

To not be broken.

He didn't know for how long he scrubbed the pot, but when his arm hurt so much, he couldn't move it one inch anymore, he sank down.

He was gonna take a little break, before Marvin came back home.

Whizzer walked over to the couch, sinking down, dozing off in a second.

He woke up again, when he felt a cold hand touching his cheek.

An ice cold hand.

"Death? Is this you?" Whizzer slurred, squinting open his eyes, "ah, it's you," he sighed as he could make out Marvin kneeling next to him.

"You didn't call." Marvin complained, laying down next to Whizzer on the couch.

"I was busy" Whizzer mumbled, while Marvin wrapped his arms around him, "yo- you're really cold, Marvin" 

"I'm a normal temperature, Whizzer."

"'tis nice.." Whizzer disagreed, deliriously placing a kiss on Marvin's cheek, while crawling on top of him.

He just wanted to hold Marvin.

He kissed him again.

"I cooked.." Whizzer mumbled into the kiss, Marvin pulling back so that he could see him roll his eyes. "Yes, I saw that! Looks like you almost burned down the whole building, Whiz kid," he sighed, before stroking his thumb over Whizzer's cheek "I already ordered the pizza before I left the office."

Whizzer, however, wasn't even listening anymore. He sat up, his body still on Marvin's, pulling his T-shirt over his head, then busied himself with taking off his pajama pants.  
"What are you doing?" Marvin chuckled, as Whizzer now started to unbutton Marvin's shirt, stripping it off his body. "You look like you're on a mission," Marvin added, letting Whizzer take off his pants, arching his body in the air.

"I am." Whizzer mumbled, unceremoniously pushing down Marvin's boxers, before he finally settled down on Marvin's chest again.

"Happy?" Marvin chuckled, stroking over Whizzer's back.

"Hmh.." Whizzer mumbled, laying his lips on Marvin's neck, starting to suck harshly.

Marvin made a complaining noise, trying to push his head away, "Stop it, you're sick," he complained, only able to see the top of Whizzer's head, the messy dark blonde hair bouncing up and down.

But Whizzer didn't stop. 

Yes, he was sick.

But this was the only thing that was keeping him sane.

He slowly worked his way down, stopping at Marvin's collarbone, then at his hip, nuzzling his nose into the warm skin, smiling into the kisses.

Whizzer's lips felt sore.

His groin felt sore.

His throat felt sore.

But he didn't mind.

It was just them.

Like it should be.

Together.

And then, it rang.

Whizzer startled, jerking his head up to look at the telephone.

"It's the doorbell," Marvin groaned, sitting back up and bending down to at least gather his boxers from the floor. "It's the pizza," he added as he saw that Whizzer was still staring at the telephone in utter horror.

It rang again.

"Yesss, for Christ's sake!" Marvin yelled, jumping up and down as he finally found a pair of boxers - although they were Whizzer's - quickly pulling them up his legs, before opening the door.

"Yes, how much is i-," Marvin asked, freezing as he saw the people behind the door.

He closed the door again.

"Marvin?!" Whizzer could hear Trina ask from behind the door, followed by a "Dad?" and a "see, Jason, this is what we psychologists call a 'shock' " from Mendel.

"Up." Marvin ordered, putting his arm under Whizzer's to help him stand up from the couch, leading him in the direction of the bedroom, while hurriedly putting his clothes on.

"Marvin…" Whizzer mumbled tiredly, reaching his hands out to the other man, fixing the completely wrong buttoned shirt, while Marvin struggled to buckle his belt. "Jesus, fuck me, shit shit shit," Marvin mumbled under his breath, before he finally managed, jumping back out of Whizzer's reach to the door, waving at Whizzer to go get dressed before opening it.

"Trina! What a nice surprise!" Whizzer could hear Marvin say and he could almost hear Trina roll her eyes.

"I told you last week that Jason's going to come stay with you this weekend!"

"Yes, I know! I wouldn't forget that! Hi buddy!"

"Hey dad"

A forced hug.

A friendly nod to Mendel.

Whizzer didn't even have to be there, to know what was going on.

"So, great seeing you guys! Bye then, see you on Sunday!"

"Well, actually, I wanted to talk to you about the Bar Mitzvah for a second, Marvin. Do you remember the Applebaums?"

And there they go.

Whizzer sighed, running his hands through his hair.

He tilted his head, startling as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror.

He didn't really know if it was the medicine, the weariness or just a sudden realization: he looked absolutely horrible.

How Marvin could even bear to look at him, he didn't know.

He had lost weight.

A lot of it.

His whole body looking like it was just barely clinging to life.

A red rash spreading over his skin, as if to claim it as its own.

His eyes framed in dark circles.

It didn't compliment them.

Didn't look like a bad boy with radiating brown eyes.

They didn't sparkle through it.

They looked washed out, almost vanished into the darkness.

His hair was limp.

And dirty.

The sweat had made it greasy.

Whizzer loved his hair.

He had once loved it, at least.

Spend hours on it.

Now he couldn't even bring up the energy to wash it.

"They're boring, she just likes the way you dress!" he could hear Marvin say, as he pulled out some clothes from the wardrobe, 

"I hate this!" he heard Jason - like father like son - as he put on pants and shirt.

"Jason, everyone hates his parents." he heard Mendel explain, as he tried to fix his hair with dry shampoo.

He looked at himself in the mirror.

He was wearing his light pink button up, his beige pants, his hair combed.

He didn't look good.

But he looked okay.

And that was apparently the best he could do, at the moment.

He took a deep breath, stepping out of the bedroom, acting as if he was just casually strolling around.

"Oh, hi Whizzer!" Jason greeted him first, the smile back on his face, as his parents had apparently stopped fighting.

"Hey," Whizzer smiled, taking his backpack from him.

"You look awful." Jason noted, evoking his mother's interest now "oh, dear," she mumbled "are you sick?"

"It's just a cold," Whizzer shrugged

"Well, try not to pass it on to Jason," Trina sighed "he has this school trip coming u-"

"Please give me your cold, Whizzer!"

"Jason! You're not getting out of this trip, I told you a million times that we already paid for it and two weeks ago you begged me to let you go there!

"Yes, but now Sofia's not going anymore and I-"

"Jason."

"Please, mom!"

"Ask your father," Trina sighed, kissing Jason's head "see you on Sunday, honey"

They spend their evening inside.

Eating pizza, playing chess with Jason with the TV blaring in the background.

The sun had long set, Jason sitting in front of the TV now, taking in every little bit of E.T. with fascination, while Whizzer lay on the couch, head in Marvin's lap as Marvin's fingers absently ran through his hair.

Whizzer was gazing up at Marvin, who was watching his son more than the movie. 

Trina's words were still stuck in Whizzer's head.

Whizzer ran his fingers over Marvin's arms, looking for any sign of a rash.

Contagious.

He put Marvin's hand against his cheek, checking for an increased temperature.

What if Whizzer was contagious.

He looked at Marvin's face, searching for any paleness, and dark bags under the eyes.

Whizzer had never thought about it until now.

That he could be contagious.

He had no idea how that sickness of his worked.

Not even doctors had any idea.

What if he passed it on to Marvin.

Or to Jason.

Or to the cashier at the store.

Or to anyone at all.

What if he had set their death sentence.

He closed his eyes.

He was so stupid, so fucking stupid.

He was killing everyone.

He opened his eyes again.

Now, Marvin's eyes were looking down at him.

They looked somewhat different, but he couldn't figure out why for a while.

Then he realized: Marvin looked angry.

Marvin nudged him to sit up, before the man got off the sofa, grabbing Whizzer's hand before wordlessly pulling him up and towards the bathroom, closing the door behind themselves.

"What's the matter, Marvin?" Whizzer asked, ripping his hand out of the grasp.

"You are the matter, Whizzer! You're unbelievable!"

"What, you wanna fight?! Now? Jason's in the other fucking room"

"No, I don't want to fight, but you're pissing me off, okay?"

"Oh, am I? I am so sorry, what isn't to your liking? Hm?"

"You!"

"Me?"

"You and your fucking bullshit. You think you're sooo mysterious and you're soo smart."

"Oh, do I?"

Whizzer stared at Marvin. He looked really angry.

That scared Whizzer.

He felt like it was two years ago again.

The yelling, the fighting, the accusations.

The glaring eyes, the narrowed lips, the eyebrows pulled close together.

Racing heartbeats, tense muscles.

Then, Marvin spoke again, "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I don't see the look in your eyes? You think you are so alone, Whizzer. But you're not. And this is annoying. You get so lost in that head of yours that you think that it's all there is. And you forget me. And you forget Cordelia and Charlotte and everybody else. Because in your head it's just you. It's just Whizzer. Whizzer against the world. Whizzer fighting everything. Alone. Not trusting anybody. Not letting anybody else help."

"I don't..-"

He didn't know what to say.

Didn't know how to react.

It seemed like neither did Marvin.

He just stared at him, before resting his hand on his face, making sure that Whizzer was looking at him.

"Whizzer, please," Marvin said "please just --"

It was one of those moments when you feel like you want to say a million things. When you had it all planned out in your head. But then, suddenly, there is nothing more to say, your head is empty, the words are gone.

They just looked at each other, Marvin taking a deep breath, "Now take your fucking clothes off," he said.

"What?"

"Get in the tub!" Marvin explained, nodding at the bathtub, starting to fill it with water, "I love you, but you look disgusting"

"Can't argue with that," Whizzer chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt that was already drenched in sweat again. The water was ice cold, but Whizzer didn't protest as he lowered his body in.

He had to admit, it felt good against his warm body, his head finally starting to clear up a little bit.

Marvin sat down on the edge of the tub, massaging shampoo into Whizzer's hair, a comfortable silence spreading in the room.

"Whizzer, listen," Marvin spoke up after a while. "Don't get lost in that pretty head of yours, okay? I know you worry, but honestly, you're just psyching yourself out. You're too nervous to eat, so you lose weight. You're nervous, so you scratch that rash and it gets bigger. It's just a cold and you're so afraid of it that you make it into the plague."

Marvin was right.

Whizzer certainly never expected these three words to form in his head.

But he was right.

With every minute in the bath, with every worry he let go, he started to feel better.

Maybe he was just psyching himself out.

Maybe it was just a stubborn cold.

Maybe he was just acting ridiculous.

"Hey Marvin?" Whizzer grinned, making Marvin smile "yeah?" 

"Hold my hand," Whizzer demanded, reaching his hand out, Marvin raising his eyebrow, but taking it. "Isn't that a little overdramati-" he started, but Whizzer quickly pulled at his hand, pulling him into the water. "I hate you!" Marvin complained, now next to Whizzer in the bathtub, still fully clothed. "You love me, you said so! No take backs!" Whizzer grinned, kissing him.

After a while in the bathroom, it got quiet, only their voices audible through the door.

"No, no Marvin rub it"

"I am rubbing it!"

"You're jerking it, rub it! You need to do it more gently"

"Like this?"

"Yes, do it with passion, Marvin"

"Ah, like this then?"

"Yes, that feels so good"

"Hahaha, you like that, huh?"

"Uhm..Dad?"

Whizzer and Marvin's heads shot around, staring at Jason who stood in the open door.

"It's not what it looks like, Jason"

"It looks like you're both putting on face masks while sitting on the bathroom floor"

"It's a moisturizing face cream for men!"

"Uhm, actually it's a face mask. It's the raspberry-kiss mask for middle-aged women," Whizzer corrected him, "I got it on clearance!" he added as he saw Marvin's face.

Whizzer grinned as Marvin rolled his eyes at him. 

He just looked too cute.

Sitting there, his face covered in the light pink cream, still propped up on his knees, fingers applying the cream to Whizzer's face.

"Is the movie over?" Whizzer asked.

"No, I just wanted to tell you that -" Jason answered, Whizzer gently pulling him next to himself on the floor, but Marvin interrupted him

"That you hate Mendel and think I'm a much better dad?" 

"Shut up, Mr Raspberry-Kiss" Whizzer rolled his eyes. 

"Oh, is it that you hate Whizzer and want him to move out?" Marvin corrected himself, giving Whizzer a look, but Jason shook his head "it's-"

"It's that you are nervous about your Bar Mitzvah, right? Don't worry about it, bud, your Mum and I got it all planned and-"

"Planned? All you do is fight!"

"Shut up, Whizzer. It's all good, Jason. We got Cordelia to cook-"

"Her food is awful."

"Yes, Whizzer, thank you for that. She'll come around, though, I promise, Jason"

"I love Cordelia."

"Yes, Whizzer, that's nice."

"She got me this face mask!"

"You said you got it on clearance!"

"I did! See, we met at that shop, right? What's it called again..? Terry's? Jerry's?"

"Larry's?"

"No, that's not it, uhm, it was Berry's?"

"Oh, you mean Harry's!"

"Ah, yeah! So we met there and then we looked around for a while. And she found this jacket, which looked really good on her. It's blue and it brings out her eyes. Anyways, she sees it and falls in love with it! In love, I am telling you! So she bought it."

"..and?"

"what?"

"I thought you were going to tell me about the mask!"

"Ohh, well, she didn't have enough money with her so I gave her your credit card and she bought the mask as a thank you"

"Whizzer!"

"I know! That was really nice of her!"

"You know that's not what I meant"

"I do"

"You are lucky you're so pretty"

"You're lucky you have money"

"Hm," Marvin mumbled, leaning in to kiss Whizzer. They quickly pulled back again, however, all of the cream getting in between their teeth.

"This is disgusting," Marvin said, pulling a face.

"It doesn't taste like raspberry at all!" Whizzer added.

"I know, right? Tastes like strawberry"

"What? I can't believe you, it totally tastes like plum! Jason, eat this!"

"Don't do that, it's probably poisonous!"

"If it were poison why would they tell you to smear it all over your face?!"

"Dad! I wanted to tell you that I noticed your phone was broken, so I fixed it. I put the cord back in and then it started ringing and I picked up!" Jason finally managed to interrupt them.

"Who is it?"

"Charlotte, she says she want to talk to Whizzer."

Marvin lay his hand on Whizzer's, but Whizzer just smiled.

For the first time, he felt fine.

He felt confident.

It was just a cold.

It had to be a cold.

Whizzer stood up, snatching the remote from Jason, changing the channel from watching E.T. to one of those boring nature documentations that Jason hated.

"Hey!" Jason complained, him and Whizzer laughing as Jason tried to jump up and down to reach the remote which Whizzer held up in the air.

With his other hand, Whizzer picked up the phone, almost snorting as Marvin now tried to reach the remote for Jason, Whizzer getting on his tip toes, sticking his tongue out at Marvin.

"Hi Charlotte! How are you?"

"Hey Whizzer! Sorry you had to wait so long for the results to come in."

"Oh, that's okay. I'm all good, I'm really good actually. I mean it's just a cold after all. Everything is gonna be alri-"

"Whizzer."

Whizzer's smile faded.

"Whizzer I don't know how to tell you this."

His arm sank down.

"Whizzer, it's not a cold. You have Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. I am so, so sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I mentioned before, this chapter took FOREVER, so I also had A LOT of possible chapter titles, but I think I the best one'd be "Marvin Finally Speaks Out What We've All Been Thinking For This Whole Fic". 
> 
> Can someone please answer this quesTIONN, it won't leave my head ever since I fucking decided to include "Everyone Hates His Parents" in this fic: Jason sings "First take the 104 with my computer, I'm just a little kid, not a commuter" which is all cute and fun, BUT how does a 12 year old in the year 1982 or whatever have a computer that is tiny enough to carry around? I even looked it up and he sings this in the OBC recording as well, and not just in the revival recording. Is he a time traveller? I need answers.
> 
> ANYYWAYYS, please also tell me what you think of this chapter in the comments!! It got SO fucking long, I am sorry, I tried to actually HAVE A PLOT this time can you BELIEVE IT?!


	11. I Love My Tight Knit Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whizzer had been in the hospital for two weeks when they thought they had found the root of all evil.  
> Cancer in his lymph nodes. Almost definitely, they said. And Whizzer was so happy. How fucked up is that? Hoping that you have cancer? Because everything was better than this. Than this uncertainty.
> 
> It wasn't cancer, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, fellas.  
> I don't have much to say so sorry for the long wait and here ya go!

Dear Mom and Dad,  
I met a girl.  
She is absolutely stunning.  
I see now, what was wrong with me this entire time. How I just had to find the right girl for it all to go away, how I just had to flick a switch, turn it off.  
We met at the farmer's market, she bumped into me and I helped her pick up her things. At first I was mad, then I saw her beautiful blue eyes.  
We've moved in together and honestly, I think I am ready to pop the question.  
Everybody in the office of course thinks I'm insane, that marriage is a trap. But it's not. Not with her.  
Write me back.  
It's really important.  
Please.  
Love,  
Andrew

 

402

A girl.

A very beautiful girl.

At farmer's market.

Sharing longing glances.

342

A real job.

An office job.

With respectable male colleagues.

4770

Marriage.

402-342-4770.

Whizzer repeated the words over and over again as he dialed the number.

The letter was clenched in his hand.

He didn't want to send it anymore.

He still wanted to lie, though.

He looked down at the words, down at the future that his parents had always wanted him to have.

Wife, house, family, job.

All that shit.

Whizzer didn't know why he wrote it.

He thought he'd been done lying to them a long time ago.

Had accepted his fate.

Gay lover, hospital room, fatal illness.

That was where it led him.

Still, what they had wanted him to have wasn't the better alternative.

Heaven knows, he saw firsthand how Marvin had given it all up.

But for what?

For nothing, apparently.

For a lover dying in his arms.

402-342-4770.

Whizzer didn't really know why he was dialing the number.

He just wanted someone.

Someone who'd tell him what to do.

Who signed papers for him, who spoke to doctors and who'd hide the truth from him.

Someone to tell him everything would be alright.

Whizzer knew damn well he was way too old to cry for his mommy.

How silly it was.

Downright ridiculous.

But this whole thing was silly.

This whole illness, this whole circus, a dark, dizzy merry-go-round.

Like a theatre play, every day the same routine, going through the motions, hoping that this wasn't the day that his body decided to finally give up.

Pill after pill after pill after pill.

Check up after check up.

Ward round after ward round.

If you're not familiar with the concepts of hospitals, which I hope you aren't, ward rounds are when the doctor and some med students or nurses go around, and visit their patients on their bedside.

During these, Whizzer was really glad that Marvin wasn't there to see.

When they entered the room in their rubber gloves and face masks.

The way they stared at him.

The narcissistic prick he was, he used to love when people stared at him.

At his risqué clothes, at his good looks, at the man on his hand.

Now the looks were different: fear, disgust, and worst of all: pity. 

He couldn't blame them.

The doctors just didn't know, absolutely nobody knew, what this disease was.

All they knew was that it was contagious, people - young, healthy people in their 20s - suddenly dropping dead by the dozens.

So they got scared.

Shut the sick people up in rooms.

A "Do not enter" sign on the door.

Safety first, right?

Of course, Marvin's reaction to the gloves and mask wasn't the one the doctor's wished for.

"Whizzer, I was literally inside of you..on far too many occasions. If the air in this room is the thing that is gonna kill me, that'd just be disappointing," he said, threw them in the garbage and placed two kisses on Whizzer's lips.

When more and more people came to the hospital, the doctors and other visitors soon ditched the gloves and masks as well.

Still, these people weren't Marvin.

Although Whizzer had to admit he wouldn't mind a peck on the lips from some of these grad students, they weren't the most cheery bunch.

Young, rich, handsome and just out of college.

Pretty much everything that Whizzer wasn't right now.

"How are you doing today, Mr. Brown?"

Everyday Whizzer got asked this question.

It was pretty much the only thing they said to him, from there on it was just a series of "breathe in, now breathe out" and medical rambling to another.

Sit up straight, take off your gown.

"You could at least buy me a drink first, " Whizzer had joked the first time they had told him.

The look that they'd given him was enough to shut him up for all the times that were about to come.

They didn't even have to say anything, Whizzer just understood what they wanted to say: "Don't talk to me, you faggot. And you better not enjoy it when I am forced to touch you and your gay plague."

So from there on he started being silent, following instructions, nodding at questions.

Nobody cared.

Maybe he'd be different, if Marvin'd be around during these visits.

Maybe he'd talk back more, be sassy, be talkative.

But to tell the truth, he was glad that that wasn't the case.

Whizzer wanted these people to like him.

Or at least to not hate him.

Because his life depended on them.

He knew that for them he was just one of many.

At the beginning of the crisis, when people started dying, when it still had been in the headlines of magazines, maybe then they had cared.

But as it went on, as more people died, when they couldn't prevent it, couldn't find any answers, when people stopped talking about it, it became routine.

Sometimes the ward seemed more like a hospice than a hospital.

But Whizzer just couldn't let them give up on him.

He couldn't do that to Marvin.

So he let them go on.

Let them poke needles in his arms, take his temperature, put him on an IV, make him breathe in, make him breathe out.

One time they thought they had found the root of all evil.

Cancer it was, they said.

Cancer in his lymph nodes.

Almost definitely, they said.

They were almost a hundred percent certain, they said.

And Whizzer really hoped that it was.

And he was happy.

Everybody was so happy.

How fucked up is that?

Hoping that you have cancer?

Your lover hoping that you have cancer?

Your lover's ex-wife saying that she is praying for you that it's cancer?

Because everything was better than this.

Than this uncertainty.

This guessing around, this experimenting.

So they removed his lymph nodes.

2 hour operation.

2 week recovery.

But no recovery from the fever, from the pain, from the illness. 

It hadn't been cancer.

And now Whizzer had two big scars, one on his hip and one on his collar bone.

Marvin said it looked hot.

Whizzer said it looked like a very painful waste of money.

Whizzer had no health insurance.

Not that this surprised anyone.

He had no idea why he was even allowed to stay at the hospital.

He guessed it had something to do with Marvin yelling at people in backrooms, with Marvin's money and with Charlotte's intimidating nature.

But Marvin's money and energy wasn't infinite, especially not if he kept ditching work and sleep for Whizzer.

Whizzer wondered how much a funeral would cost.

Probably a lot.

That's why he was here, anyway, standing in the hallway of the hospital.

He technically wasn't allowed out of his room, but like he said, there were so many "gay plague" cases in the hospital by now that nobody had the time to care.

About ten minutes ago, he had finished writing the letter, but he knew that it wouldn't be enough.

His parents still wouldn't answer.

No matter how much he lied, they'd never answer his letter.

No matter how many girlfriends he'd make up, how many times he'd change his name back and forth, they'd never answer and give him a chance to really explain what happened.

They'd never help him pay back Marvin for the hospital bills and they'd never help Marvin pay for his funeral.

Maybe they'd never even find out he had died at all.

So he had a better idea than sending a letter.

Or a worse one.

A more effective one, at least.

402-342-4770.

When he had been younger, his mom made him recite the number so many times until he could have told her in his sleep.

"Remember to always call us in case of an emergency. Promise me, okay?" She whispered, before kissing his cheek and sending him off to school.

Of course, that had been decades ago.

But this right now was an emergency, if Whizzer had ever seen one.

Just as it started to ring, he realized he had no idea what he should say to her.

What he should say, if his father answered the phone.

Whizzer actually did love his father.

He wasn't all bad.

Sometimes he'd get loud.

But sometimes he'd let Whizzer sit in his lap and explained to him how baseball worked. 

Who the best players were, what the best strategies were, how to strike a home run.

And Whizzer listened.

He really did listen.

How fucking sappy.

He just wanted someone to talk to.

Someone who wasn't just doing it because they felt bad for him.

"H-" someone suddenly answered the phone.

A female voice.

He breathed out.

"Hi mom! It's Andrew!" he started rambling, trying to get out as much as possible before she hung up too quickly, "Please don't hang up. I'm sorry for everything. Did you guys get my letters? I know I fucked up, but I'm in the hospital. Yes, I know, I know. I am fine, but I just really need you right no-"

"Excuse me, Sir," the voice interrupted him.

Whizzer's heart sank.

"I think you have the wrong number. This is the Residence Inn Hotel in Omaha."

Whizzer stared at the phone.

"Oh, but this is 402-343-4775, right? No, hang on, it's 402-343-4753? No, 402-347-8770."

"Sir, this is 402-342-4770"

"Oh, okay. Yeah see I needed 402-342-4883. No, 402-242-4670. No, I- I'm sorry."

He couldn't remember anymore.

He couldn't remember their phone number anymore.

He couldn't remember the number that his mom had made him repeat every day.

Because she cared for him.

Because she wanted him to call her in case of an emergency.

"Sorry.." he mumbled, hanging up the phone.

Do you know that feeling when you try to remember your elementary school teachers?

Or your favorite kindergarten teacher?

At first you might think 'Oh, that's easy! Mrs. Smith had dark brown curls and taught me how to read", but when you really try to remember more about them, you can't. 

Sure, you might be able to remember a situation with them: accidentally calling her mom, singing your favorite song in class, an excursion to the zoo. You might remember how they made you feel, how they praised you for some very neat coloring or how they scolded you for talking to your friend in class. But when you really try to remember them: what was their smile like? What color were their eyes? What did their voice sound like? What was their first name? Did they paint their nails? What kind of clothes did they wear?, you can't anymore.

Now imagine thinking this about your parents.

Whizzer hadn't seen his parents since he was 16 years old.

Hadn't heard their voice.

And suddenly it was like they were as real as the things he made up in his letter.

Like that stupid made up girl, like that fucking farmer's market.

He couldn't remember if his mother's hair was brown or blonde.

He couldn't remember the sound of her voice. 

He couldn't remember if she called him Andy.

He couldn't remember the smell of her perfume.

Couldn't remember if his father wore glasses.

Couldn't remember if he had a beard or not.

His memory was blurred, as if someone had spilled water over ink.

As if tears dropped down over it, smudging and staining.

His head hurt.

He felt his fever more than ever.

His rash made him want to peel his skin off.

He was going to die.

Alone.

And now was the moment he felt like he was coming to terms with it.

He was alone.

That was apparently the path he had chosen when he set foot in that bus to New York City.

It felt inevitable.

That was until he heard someone yelling.

"Are you fucking kidding me? No, oh no, lady, you listen to me! Do you know how long that tray's been here?! The food is cold. Are you telling me that he hasn't had anything to eat yet? This is ridiculous, how are you calling yourself a hospital? Starving patients, thank you very much for your help! Fucking idiots..- Whizzer, what are you doing out here?!" 

"Do you always yell at my nurses?"

"Only when they deserve it. So only about five times a day"

"That actually explains a lot"

Marvin was holding a lunch tray in his hand, the whole tray shaking with his hands that were clenched around it in anger. "Come on, Whiz kid, everybody's waiting already," he finally sighed, heading over to Whizzer's room.

"Can you believe this?!" he mumbled, turning around to Whizzer, while walking down the hallway.

"What did they serve soup again?! I can't believe this!" Whizzer mocked him, rolling his eyes, trying to walk at steadily as he could, holding on to his IV stand for support.

"What? Oh, no, no," Marvin answered, unconsciously picking up the pace, as he seemed to get angrier "no, Whizzer, the point is that it's cold!"

"Oh no, how dare they?"

"Whizzer, you were supposed to get this three hours ago! Did they even serve you breakfast?"

"I got a nice syringe in my arm for breakfast. I am living my best life here, Marvin."

"They said that the cooks don't want to cook for the people in these wards, you know, the sick gay people and stuff, and they really don't wanna bring them food. So they just bring the tray, set it down god knows where in the hospital and wait for some stupid nurse to deliver it. By the time they do that it's cold and full of germs!"

"Marvin, it's okay."

"No, it's not!"

"It is. They're just scared."

"I don't care! They should do their fucking jobs!" Marvin snapped, walking into Whizzer's room.

Whizzer took the opportunity to stop walking, pressing his hand to the wall for support. He was panting pathetically.

He was mad.

At his parents.

At his nurses.

At Marvin.

At God.

At himself.

He couldn't do this anymore, he just couldn't.

The uncertainty, the pain.

His own pain and the pain he caused everyone around him.

He just wanted this to be over, everything to be over.

Life to be over.

"Whizzer! We've been wondering where you were! What in the name of sanity are you doing? Come in!"

His head jerked up and he now saw Cordelia standing in the doorframe of his room, peeking outside at him.

"Oh, I didn't know you were here – well, hi, Cordelia!"

"Of course I am! Everybody's here! But wow, you're looking very good today!"

Whizzer gave her a weak smile, as she took his hand, leading him into the room. And she had been right, the room was already filled with people. 

Marvin was now sitting on Whizzer's bed, the tray still on his lap, talking to Trina. Jason was sitting next to her, playing with a little chess set that he dragged around with him everywhere he went, playing by himself, although a very eager Mendel sat next to him. Mendel was waving his arms around wildly, in his usual manner, apparently trying to give Jason advice and Whizzer could see that it cost the kid every bone in his body not to roll his eyes every two seconds. 

"Come on, sit down!" Cordelia told Whizzer, guiding him to the bed, the other people finally noticing Whizzer had entered the room.

"Hello Whizzer! You're looking really good today!" Trina said with a honest smile, Mendel nodding enthusiastically. 

Whizzer sat down next to Marvin on the bed, Marvin absently wrapping one arm around him, pecking his temple.

"Hey, Whizzer, look at this!" he said then, nodding to about eight tins and boxes on the bed. 

"Uhm..what is all this?" Whizzer asked, as Cordelia walked to her bag and started piling more and more up.

"It's Cordelia coming to your rescue," Marvin explained, not able to suppress the big grin on his face.

Cordelia gave them a smile: "It's rugelach, gefilte fish, canadelach, chicken noodle soup-"

"Chicken noodle soup?"

"Shut up, it's good for you!" she insisted, holding up a spoon, to feed it to him. 

"I think I can manage," Whizzer rolled his eyes, now also grinning, as he took the spoon from Cordelia.

"Oh my once, oh my twice, oh my chicken noodle soup with rice," Mendel interrupted them, quietly singing to himself as he spotted the soup.

"Who the fuck eats soup with rice?" Marvin frowned, adding a quick "sorry" as he saw Trina's look and her scolding pointing at Jason.

Jason, however, either didn’t appear to have noticed or was way too used to hearing his father cuss that he didn’t even want to call him out anymore, and was tugging at Whizzer’s gown: "Whizzer, I think you need to play some chess!" 

Whizzer put his spoon back down on the tray (in case you are wondering, the chicken noodle soup was unbelievable salty and the noodles in it were heart-shaped but sadly unbelievable soggy and drenched) and nodded “Sure, buddy. Sit down and begin!” he said, patting the spot next to him on the bed.

Jason smiled, dropping down next to him, slowly putting the pieces back in their place.

Whizzer watched him, reaching his hand out to tug a stray curl back behind his ear, like he had done so many times with the man’s hair from whom he inherited those brown, unruly curls.

He could feel Marvin still holding him tightly, his hand rubbing slow circles over his back, without even seeming to notice.

He could feel Jason lean into the touch, resting his head against Whizzer’s shoulder while putting the pawns into place.

He could see Charlotte come in, give Cordelia a kiss, and check his IV and his temperature.

He could feel Cordelia try to give him back his spoon and hand him another three tins with snacks.

He could see Trina fluff his pillow while talking to Cordelia about recipes that’d help him get better soon.

He could hear Mendel telling him a really lame joke (“What’s the difference between a snowman and a snow-woman? Snowballs!")

He could see how fucking lucky he was.

And he could see what an idiot he had been.

“I’ll let you win, Whizzer!” Jason announced, looking over at him, smiling brightly.

God, he had been such a moron.

He had been searching for something that’d been there all this time!

“Don’t let me win”

It was right there!

With him in this room!

People who lied to him to make him feel better, who took care of the papers and money for him, who told him what to do, who cared for him, who yelled at him, who pushed him, who hugged him, who loved him.

“No, I’ll let you win!”

He could see that he had had a family all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I actually googled the phone number of the stunning "Residence Inn" in Omaha, so don't @ me. I also watched a documentary on AIDS treatment in the 80s and that putting "Do not enter" signs on doors, not bringing them their food because they are scared the illness is contagious and thinking it's cancer is all true and really fucked up.


	12. What More Can I Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She cried for Whizzer, the man who, not long ago, she had hated most in the world.  
> But now there was no one left to hate anymore.  
> He realised he had never asked Whizzer about his opinion, didn't know, if Whizzer had hated as well her.  
> He didn't think so.  
> Whizzer didn't hate anybody, that was why it was so easy to hate him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe this?  
> Me?? Updating?? This?? Fanfiction??????  
> Unbelievable.  
> Settle in, it's a sad one.  
> (PS. I know it's been months, but please appreciate the parallel of Whizzer thinking loving Marvin is like being on fire and Marvin thinking loving Whiz is like drowning. Thanks.)

Dear Mom and Dad,  
I’ve made up my mind. Can you believe it? I sure as hell can’t. But I did. I’ve made up my mind.  
I am going to come and visit you guys in Omaha. It’s silly, really, that I needed so long to reach this conclusion. That I needed so long to gather the strength to make this choice.  
I am going to come.  
I am going to come home.  
And then we can talk.  
Not through stupid letters and unanswered hasty phone calls. We're all adults now. We can talk about everything and I can finally explain everything. I guess I owe you that much, don’t I? Telling you what I’ve been up to all these years, not in letters, but in real words, to your real faces.  
Truth is, my life is going great. It's better than great. I can't even put it into words, I am so confused by my—by our happiness.  
Marvin and I are together again and it's wonderful.  
I know I say that a lot in my letters: it's wonderful, it's perfect, I am so happy.  
But the difference is, that this time I really am.  
It's like having my own little family. My own, screwed-up family.  
It might not be a wife, two kids and a white picket fence. It’s my gay lover, his ex-wife, her new husband (who used to be his shrink), their genius son and of course my great friends: the lesbians from next door.  
Maybe it doesn't sound like much, but it is everything. But they are everything to me.  
I don't know, if after telling you this, you still want me to come. But I will, I have to.  
I miss Nebraska, I miss Omaha, I miss our little house, our garden where the grass is always too high, because nobody can be bothered to mow it. I miss that that.  
I’ve missed it for a long time now. I’ve missed you guys.  
I always thought it was silly of me to still miss you guys although I had run away, although I eventually was an adult, although you probably wouldn’t even recognise me if you saw me again and maybe I wouldn’t recognise you either.  
Adult don’t miss their parents, right?  
But they do. And I did.  
And I do.  
Seeing Jason, I realised it isn’t silly. He’s not really my son, not technically, but I still feel it.  
And I am not ashamed anymore. Not ashamed of feeling things, not ashamed of who I am and not ashamed of who I love.  
I also want you to meet my family, no matter how much drama it'll be, because what's a family life without drama, right?  
So I was thinking about coming to Nebraska in December.  
Jason'd love the snow there (there IS snow in New York, but it's mostly just disgusting and dirty, I don't know, if the kid even knows what white snow looks like!) and Trina'd love your Hannukah decorations, Mom.  
I really want to come right now, but I'm a little sick (I know this sounds like a real poor excuse, but it's true). It’s not that big of a deal and Charlotte (that's one of the lesbians, she's a doctor too, how about that? I love this city!) is doing a great job at getting me back on track.  
But anyway, we'll all see you in December, I can't wait!  
I love you guys and I'll see you real soon,  
Whizzer and Family

 

"Now, what do we have here, Whiz-kid?" Marvin asked, as he spotted the envelope on the nightstand, stretching his arm out to pick it up.

"Hm?” Whizzer answered, rubbing his eyes as he glanced over at his lover. "This, my dear, is what you call a letter. I'll send it later."

"Send it?"

"No, I was actually planning on shoving it up your butt, Marvin. Yes, send it.” Whizzer grinned, snatching it out of Marvin’s hand before he had the chance to take a closer look.

“Hey! Lemme see!”

"It's a surprise!"

"Oh, is it?"

Whizzer nodded, pecking his cheek before he lay his head in his chest. “Guess you’ll have to be patient. Just you wait until I get better, I’m planning something that will blow your mind!” 

“I can’t wait…” Marvin agreed, kissing the top of Whizzer’s head, while his fingertips ran over his back. 

Carefully, he stroke up his T-shirt (well, Marvin's T-Shirt to be exact. Whizzer was still unwilling to - to put it in his own words - "stoop down to Marvin's level and to buy himself such an unfashionable article of clothing". However, he did not want to wear his hospital gown either.) revealing Whizzer’s pale skin, sprinkled with dozens of red dots underneath.

"You’ve still got that rash. The IV isn’t working. Charlotte said it’d make it away but it didn’t. Why isn’t it working? It has to work! She said it would! But you’ve still got it. You’ve still got the rash!" 

"And you’ve still got that ugly face, you don’t hear me complaining about it," Whizzer replied into Marvin's neck, reaching behind himself to pull the shirt back down. 

"It’ll go away sooner or later. Stop worrying. I’ll be fine!"

Life without Whizzer was flat as a lake.

Life with Whizzer - loving Whizzer - was like drowning.

Like being underwater and you hear nothing else, you see nothing else.

It's just Whizzer, always Whizzer.

At times, this had almost ruined Marvin's whole life.

It wasn't Whizzer's fault how, at times, he had been everything Marvin could think about.

How he couldn't look at his wife anymore, couldn't talk to his son, because - and he was a horrible person for thinking this – at that time, all that mattered to him was being with Whizzer.

It had ruined his marriage, his relationship with his son.

It had cost him his social reputation, going from a father living in the suburbs to a divorced gay man.

He didn't care.

Because it was for Whizzer.

All of it was for Whizzer.

And then they broke up.

Then Marvin had ruined it.

And they had split up.

Because Marvin had fucking ruined it.

Because he had treated Whizzer like garbage.

Like his maid.

And he knew that.

And he knew that what he had done had been wrong.

But he had just been so stupid.

And so ignorant.

And he had ruined it.

Like he ruined everything else.

He wasn't like Whizzer.

Wasn't confident, outgoing or especially good-looking.

Marvin had brains.

At least he liked to believe that he did.

But more importantly, he had money.

That was all.

All that was left from his former life.

So with that money, he moved to the upper East side.

To distract himself, mostly.

He met Cordelia and Charlotte, he had his son on the weekends.

It had been time to grow up.

And he had grown up.

But without Whizzer there.

Two years without Whizzer.

Two years wasted.

Two years they could have spent together.

Two more years.

If they had been together during these two years, maybe Whizzer wouldn’t even have gotten sick.

So then they would have even more time.

More time.

All Marvin wanted was more time with Whizzer.

He would give anything.

For two years more.

For one year more.

For one month more.

For one week more.

For one day more.

For one hour more.

For one minute more.

To just hold Whizzer.

For one second more.

To hold his body and to hear him breath.

For just one more moment.

But he was gone.

Forever.

When they had gotten back together after two years, Marvin was back to drowning.

His world was Whizzer again.

He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat, nothing but to stare at Whizzer, not able to believe how lucky he was.

He had been so, so lucky.

They had been so incredibly lucky.

Or so they thought.

Loving Whizzer was like drowning.

Right now, there were tons of people around Marvin.

Still, he was all alone.

All alone now, that Whizzer was gone.

Gone forever.

Marvin couldn't hear a word they were saying.

He was drowning.

They moved their mouths, but no sound reached his ears, only bubbles of senseless blubber.

Because nothing made sense anymore, in a world where Whizzer was gone.

Lost in the water.

He couldn't breathe anymore, the salty water in his mouth, in his eyes.

It took him a while to realise, they were his tears.

The shaking sobs that made it impossible to breathe.

He held on to the cold, metallic frame of the hospital bed, as if it were a life boat.

The tiniest lifeboat.

Cold, clammy and crowded in a raging black ocean.

Nowhere to go.

But where would he even go?

Because there was no place at all on this earth anymore where he could find Whizzer.

It all seemed silly now. 

How he thought he had ruined his whole life when he broke up with Whizzer, because now he knew that Whizzer had always been there. 

They hadn’t been together but he had still been there. 

On this earth.

In Brooklyn.

And he could just have walked over and talked to him and even if he would have yelled, even if he would have slammed the door, he’d still have been there.

Maybe all that was left to do was drown.

To actually drown.

To just give in.

To just let the emotions overwhelm him.

Maybe this was the only solution, the only way to find him.

Drowning.

Dying.

Whatever you want to call it.

Right here, right now.

But even that was no solution, because who even knew what came after.

Heaven and hell?

Total darkness?

He knew he shouldn’t care, play Romeo and Juliet and just follow, trying to find Whizzer, whatever it might take.

But he was too much of a coward.

Loving Whizzer hurt.

It hurt like nothing had ever hurt him before.

An indescribable pain.

Maybe this was just a dream.

Maybe he was sleeping.

Maybe this was just like when they still kept their affair secret and Marvin snuck away before sunrise, maybe this was just one of Whizzer's pranks to show him, how it felt to wake up alone.

But it wasn't.

Trina was standing right there, tears in her eyes.

She cried for Whizzer, the man who, not long ago, she had hated most in the world.

Or maybe she had always hated Marvin most in the world, he wasn’t sure.

But now there was no one left to hate anymore.

He realised he had never asked Whizzer about his opinion, didn't know, if Whizzer had hated as well her. 

He didn't think so. 

Whizzer didn't hate anybody, that was why it was so easy to hate him.

They didn't talk about Trina in the months before their break up.

And not after they got together again either.

Marvin remembered the first dinner they had together, after he and Whizzer got back together.

A tight knit family sitting at the table, just his lover, his ex-wife, her husband/his shrink, and his kid.

Marvin was briefly considering the opportunity to write a screen play about it.

"So you're...back together?" Trina asked for the thousandth time, even Mendel rolling his eyes already.

"Yes, Trina" Marvin sighed, glancing over at Whizzer, who calmly ate his linguine, but Marvin could feel his hand grabbing his leg under the table, for support.

"No, no that's lovely. You're back together! That is...wonderful, marvellous, really great." Trina answered, getting less enthusiastic with every adjective she added.

Marvin had been together with Trina for 13 years and he knew that she didn't mean it.

He knew that she was probably just confused by the whole situation and although she had Mendel to serenade and Jason to calm her, it was weird to have her ex-husband's affair back at the table.

He also knew that Whizzer didn't know all of this.

He put his hand on Whizzer's, intertwining their fingers.

He felt him relax a little bit, silence filling the room again, before Jason broke it.

"Today Mrs. Groves told us that Nancy Reagan said-" he began, Whizzer and Trina looking up at the same time.

"Nancy Reagan? That thin bitch?" They said in unison, stopping abruptly, staring at each other, before a big grin formed on Whizzer's face.

In the hospital, Trina's hand was in Mendel's.

Marvin didn't care anymore.

He just wanted Whizzer's hand back in his.

Mendel was moving his mouth, talking to Marvin, but Marvin just couldn't hear him.

There were just bubbles.

He was probably talking in that psychiatrist manner, telling him how everything was going to be alright.

It wouldn't, though.

It would be never again.

In the corner of the room sat Cordelia, Jason in her lap.

Jason hated sitting on people's laps, he had always hated it ever since he was a little child. 

But Whizzer had always found a way to make Jason smile, to make him like the things he hated.

Jason looked so small.

He was small.

Sometimes Marvin had to remind himself that he was still a kid and not just a snarky adult, who beat Marvin at chess and who Marvin gave pocket money every Sunday.

He was a kid.

12 and a half years old, tears in his eyes and Cordelia's arms around him, as she tried to distract him by pointing at the different chess pieces, making him explain them to her.

It should be Marvin who did that, who protected Jason from the stabbing pain that he himself was feeling right now.

But Marvin couldn't breathe, he couldn't move.

He closed his eyes again.

Back in his bed - in their bed - at home.

Back with Whizzer next to him, breathing steadily, radiating warmth.

He remembered the first time Jason slept over at their flat.

The fight he and Whizzer had before, how Whizzer told him he didn't want to babysit, how he told him that Marvin had so many strings attached to him and how it was incredible that Whizzer even stayed with him.

He remembered putting a disgruntled Jason to bed on the couch, after a day of forced conversation, burned dinner and a movie that even for a 10 year-old had been way too childish.

Tucking his tiny body in the blanket, ruffling up his brown curls, a frown on the kid's face that was normally reserved for someone 30 years older than him.

A son who didn't even want to be here.

A son who was only here because his mother threatened to ground him for the week, if he didn't visit his dad. A gesture that seemed sweet at first, before Marvin eventually realised that Trina only did it because she wanted to spend time alone with Mendel.

When Marvin headed back to the bedroom, he found another pouting younger person laying in their bed, Whizzer keeping his back to Marvin and his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

He honestly didn’t even really know why Whizzer was pouting or why he himself was angry at Whizzer, but it felt like that this was just their relationship at this point. 

He lay down next to him, reaching his hand out but stopping before his fingers reached Whizzer's back.

This was ridiculous.

This was everything he tried to get away from when he left Trina.

The accusations, the sulking, the ignoring.

He backed away, turning his back to Whizzer.

Two could play this game.

He fell asleep eventually, being woken up again at 02:43am, according to his new alarm clock that he got from his boss for his birthday (a rather passive aggressive present that Marvin got only because Whizzer always made him late for work, although he did enjoy the thing that happened before he had to run out of the door). 

However, it wasn't the clock that woke him, it were short whimpers, hitched breaths, quiet crying.

For fuck’s sake, Whizzer, get a fucking grip.

He turned around to face Whizzer, but his side of the bed was empty.

Jesus Christ, this was Trina all over again. 

Crying in the bathroom, always blaming Marvin for everything.

He slowly got up.

God, how he hated Whizzer's flair for the dramatic.

He walked over to the door, rubbing his eyes.

Then, he froze.

Through the crack of the door, there was light coming from the living room and Marvin could make out a very calm Whizzer kneeling next to the couch, Jason still tucked in his blankets, the boy still sniffling.

Now, that was peculiar.

Jason never cried.

Marvin had known Jason for literally his whole life (since he was, you know, his dad) and while admittedly he had mostly handed the baby over to Trina when he cried, mumbling some "I have to go to work!" excuse, Jason seemed to just have quit crying from the age of 4, when he had learned that yelling was a much faster method to get what he wanted.

Then - at the age of six - he learnt the art of sarcasm and all hope for Marvin’s sanity had been lost.

Marvin watched Whizzer sit down next to Jason on the couch, his mouth moving and Marvin shot back into the room. He grabbed the glass of water on his nightstand, hurrying back to the door before he pressed it against the wood. 

Of course he forgot that there was still a considerable amount of water in the glass, spilling it all over the door and his shirt. 

He quietly cursed but pressed is ear against the glass, trying to hear what Whizzer was saying.

"I'm just saying, if the Mets don't beat the Red Sox this season that coach is going to lose his job!"

Oh, so baseball again.

Always fucking baseball.

Was Marvin not enough as a dad?

Did Jason so desperately need a dad who liked baseball?

Was Marvin not manly enough?

So Whizzer, Whizzer fucking Brown, was more manly than him?

A better dad?

Someone Jason actually talked to about stuff?

And not just ignored him?

Fucking great.

"Statistics say the Baltimore Orioles are going to win, the Mets are out anyways, Whizzer" 

"But you love the Mets!" 

"Statistics say they are going to lose"

"So what? Have a little faith! Science and math aren't always right!"

"But most of the time! Like chromosomes! Like with my dad and with-"

"With what?"

"Nothing."

"With what, Jason?"

"Chromosomes! So...it's…- genes and they determine who you are. And you get stuff from your parents, like the hair color and all."

"I am aware of what chromosomes are, kid. What I want to know is what's bothering you so much"

"People always-, they always say I look like dad."

"Yeah, you do! It's good, he looks handsome, so what?"

"See?! That's the problem! You think he's handsome! You guys are-- you know."

"Gay?"

"Yeah. And if it's all about the chromosomes, and I am just like him, what if they carry? What, if I'm also a homo?"

Marvin stared at Jason.

His hand was clenched to the glass, trying not to miss any word, trying to keep his hand steady, while he felt like himself was suddenly made out of glass.

And he was breaking inside.

He desperately moved his gaze to Whizzer, for him to say something.

But Whizzer had his back turned to Marvin now, his shoulders moving up and down in a jerking motion.

Was he fucking crying?

He better not be crying.

Then he could hear it.

Whizzer was laughing.

"Oh, lord. Jason, they told me you were smart! What a stupid theory, THAT'S why you're crying?" he heard him ask, still laughing. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and I live with your dad!"

"So...that means I'm not a fairy?" Jason asked, a smile tugging at his lips, his tears long dried up and forgotten.

"Whizzer says it doesn't, dearie," Whizzer chuckled. "Listen, my parents were perfectly straight and my grandparents were perfectly straight and my great-grandparents were perfectly straight and yet here I am! You just leave the ass to me and the chess to yourself. Don't worry about that stuff, alright? Besides, isn't there this girl you constantly talk about? Sofia?"

"Yeah, she's really pretty...but she doesn't really like me that much"

"Not yet, she doesn’t! Just you wait, I already have a plan!" 

Whizzer grinned, Jason grinning back at him and Marvin rolled his eyes, already knowing that their next day was going to be those two bend over a notepad, diabolically laughing as they mapped out their master plan.

But that had been then.

When everything had still been alright.

Now, nothing was ever going to be alright again.

Now, there were nurses hurrying around the hospital room, there was Charlotte talking to them.

He remembered the first time he had introduced Whizzer to Cordelia and Charlotte.

That feeling of when you introduce a friend to your other friends.

That overpowering fear that they'd like the new friend more than you.

And of course they would.

Whizzer fit right in with them.

He wasn't the weird divorcee, the boring guy with the 9 to 5 job.

He was exciting and flamboyant.

But weirdly, when Marvin had sat on their couch, talking to Charlotte, Whizzer in his arms, braiding Cordelia's hair, he hadn't felt like that at all.

All had been well.

At that time, all had been well.

Marvin hated the nurses.

They took Whizzer away, they didn't let him help him, they didn't help him, they just let the life leave his eyes.

He couldn't remember how long it took for him to be able to sit back up.

How long it took for him to walk by Mendel's side, to stumble along across the room.

"Sir! Excuse me!" A nurse stopped them at the door ."Sir, you still have this" she said, pointing at the envelope that was clutched in Marvin's hand.

It was Whizzer's letter.

Marvin had found again on his breakfast tray and had grabbed it without even thinking about it.

Marvin opened his mouth, but closed it again.

He was underwater, how was he supposed to speak?

He stared down at the letter, that he had completely forgotten about.

"I...I need to send it, it's a letter..-" he managed to say, staring at the nurse in disbelieve.

"I am so sorry, Sir, but this letter is Mr. Andrew Brown's property an-"

"Andrew? No, no his name his Whiz-"

"It's the name it says on his social security card...- anyways, we cannot let you go with any of his personal items, that would be considered stealing, since he... well, since he can't give his approval anymore for you to take it"

"I'm his boyfriend, I...it's just a letter. He wanted to send it, I want to send it for him"

"I understand that, but you are not allowed"

"I am his boyfriend, we live together"

"Sir, we could only give his possessions to his relatives or his girlfriend or-"

"I'm his boyfriend"

"There is no such thing as the boyfriend of another man, you hold no legal rights, in fact, it is rather against the law, to be quite frank. Maybe I can send it later, we'll put it in his file for now." 

Marvin wanted to slap her face.

To punch her, to scream, to yell, to cry.

But he felt like he could only move in slow motion, the water pressure holding him back.

But he couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe.

He felt her slide the letter out of his hand, Mendel giving him a nudge to help him move again, to walk away.

Mendel started to talk again.

About the rudeness of the nurse, about how they'd take a stand and come back and get Whizzer's things.

Marvin just listened, he couldn't talk.

He knew they were never going to send that letter.

He knew they were going to send some bullshit standard letter to whoever they considered Whizzer’s “next of kin”.

To whoever they found in his documents.

No matter who they were.

No matter if they were still in contact with Whizzer or not.

No matter if they cared or not.

They would never hear Whizzer’s perspective on things.

They would only see he had the “gay disease”.

And that he had died.

Whizzer was dead.

There was nothing more to say.

 

Dear Mr Brown and/or Mrs Brown,  
Re: Brown, Andrew , Social Security Number: 408-63-6731  
We are writing to inform you that the patient Mr. Andrew Brown died whilst an inpatient on the AIDS ward.  
Date of admission: 23/10/1982  
Date of death: 30/11/1982  
We send our condolences,  
The New York Community Hospital  
2525 Kings Hwy, Brooklyn, NY 11229, USA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaa whaaa whaaat?? A change of the focalizer in the last chapter?? What an incredible narratological twist?? WHo would have guessed I'd do that?? Except for like the 18374 people who saw me do it when I uploaded this chapter like four chapters too early??  
> Hope it still had the wished for effect haha.  
> Anyway, that's it for this fanfiction. It was a wild ride, wasn't it?  
> If you'd like to read more from me, I've started a new fic called "The Nausea Before the Game" written from Marvin's perspective, check it out if you want to. Also feel free to comment down below any new ideas for fics you might want to read.  
> Thank you for all of you guys' support through this. I really, really love this community so much.  
> Stay the awesome people you are.  
> Until next time!


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